Shadowfriend
by karlsindisguise
Summary: Kurt Hummel knows from experience that Demons only bring pain and suffering, until he meets Blaine Anderson.
1. Chapter 1

Kurt knew about the Demons.

Who didn't? It had been almost ten years since a pair of incompetent necromancers had broken the seal between worlds, but they were still here. Still waiting in the shadows. Still spreading terror wherever possible. Still taking people.

At first, the solution was simple. Kill the lot. Keep a few for experimentation. The politicians convinced everyone that it was the only way; that the demons would take over completely if it wasn't done. It was a word of comfort to those who didn't want their loved one's slaughtered, and an anthem for those who hated and feared them no matter who they had been in the past.

But then the worst happened. The thing that everyone had been fearing for years. The Taken were still there. They were somewhere inside of the body. They were still fighting.

When he was younger, Kurt didn't understand the panic. He didn't understand why his dad had placed lamps all over the house, made sure that Kurt always slept with his lights on, and insisted that everyone in the family carry flashlights everywhere. He thought it was all a silly game. And, in retrospect, it was. But that didn't stop his dad from yelling at him when he forgot his flashlight as he walked through the dark hallway to his parents' room one night. It didn't stop his mother from getting killed by a rogue Demon when he was only eight. It didn't stop a Demon from coaxing him with sweet words to "be friends" right after he lost his mother.

He almost gave in to that Demon. He was eight and sad and unable to understand why he would never see his mommy again. The Demon had such wonderful things to say, too: he told Kurt about how much happier he would be, not having to feel pain for his mommy (maybe they could even bring her home), how much better off he would be because the demon would make him normal, how proud his daddy would be that he'd made a new friend. He wanted his mommy back. He wanted to be happy. He wanted his daddy to be proud.

One night, when the Demon left him alone for a while, and his daddy was in a good mood for the first time since his mommy died, Kurt asked him about his new friend. As soon Burt Hummel heard the words "shadow-friend," he spun and dropped the plate he was holding, turning to his beautiful, perfect son-the last piece of his wife he had left-in horror.

He grabbed Kurt by the shoulders roughly and said urgently "Kurt, you haven't let him in, have you? Your friend? He's not... not talking from... inside is he?"

Kurt squirmed uncomfortably, frightened at his daddy's expression. "N-no. He talks from the dark. Daddy you're hurting me!"

"I know, buddy. I'm sorry," Burt said gently, loosening his grip as a wave of relief washed over him. "I want you to do something for me, Kurt, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt said softly. He did something wrong, he knew it. His daddy was disappointed. Just like his shadow-friend said he would be.

"I want you to say goodbye to shadow-friend tonight, got that?"

"But, Daddy-"

"No buts," Burt said sternly, struggling to keep his temper in front of his son. How dare that dirty, horrible... _thing _come anywhere near his son? How dare they try to take Kurt from him, too? Just the though of that wretched creature's words reaching his son's innocent ear made his blood boil. But he couldn't yell at Kurt. He couldn't. It wasn't Kurt's fault. Yelling would only drive him farther away and closer to the creature. "Just do this for me please and I'll... I'll buy you new clothes for your dolls. And more accessories for your tea set. And even those shoes you wanted. What do you say kiddo? That sound good?"

Kurt thought for a moment. He did really want all the stuff his daddy was offering him, but he wanted a friend, too. He didn't know which one he wanted more... he knew shadow-friend might be sad to go and he knew his daddy would be happy to see him playing with the toys...

"Why?" Kurt asked sadly, "he's my friend. No one else wants to be... He said Mommy would come back! Why can't I just be his friend?"

"Because... because he's not nice. I know you think he is," Burt added as Kurt opened his mouth to protest, "I know he's probably told you great things about... about your mom comin' back. But

she-she can't come back, Kurt. And shadow-friend just tells you that so that you'll trust him. Then he'll hurt you. I don't want you to get hurt, Kurt. Not-not after your mom... I just really don't... I don't wanna lose you, too. You and me, that's all we got. So will you do it? Please?"

The look on his daddy's face was enough to convince him that he had to send shadow-friend away. He hoped shadow-friend would understand. After all, he was the one who wanted Kurt's daddy to be proud of him.

When Kurt went into his room later that night, heart heavy with what he had to do, Burt came in to give his son a few words of encouragement.

"All ready for bed, kiddo?" Burt asked as cheerfully as he could through his anxiety. What he really wanted to say was "Are you ready to send that abomination back to Hell where it belongs?" He didn't say that. He knew that the abhorrent creature would twist his words and turn Kurt against him. And he was not going to lose his only child. He was not going to lose his perfect Kurt.

"Yeah," Kurt said heavily. He loved his daddy. He would do anything to make him happy. But why did making his daddy happy have to make him feel so sad?

Burt felt his heart break at the sight of his son's tiny, dejected face. He hated to see Kurt unhappy, and he knew would spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to him. Even if he knew he was doing what was best for him.

"Hey, c'mere," Burt said quietly, as he squatted and opened his arms to his little boy. Kurt wandered over glumly and stepped into his daddy's open arms. "I love you, kid. Never, ever forget that."

Kurt smiled into his daddy's shirt. "I know, Dad. I love you, too."

After a few moments, Burt pulled back, patting Kurt gently on the back and saying "You know what to do, right bud? When shadow-friend talks just... just tell him to go away."

Burt rubbed his face, feeling uncertain. He didn't actually know how to banish a Demon. No one did at that point. They only knew that holy water didn't work, and exorcisms were useless. It was far too little to go on and it made Burt very uneasy. Hell, it made the world very uneasy. But there was hope. He'd heard about people who were strong enough to resist them. He knew it only worked for an unsettling small amount of people, but if there was any eight year old strong enough to resist, it was his Kurt.

"I'm gonna be right outside that door if you need me, okay?" Burt suppressed the desire to take his son into his arms and hide him in the brightest light he could find. That was the worst part. There was nothing he could do to help Kurt. His precious little child had to fight that monstrosity on his own.

Kurt nodded apprehensively, and slid from his daddy's grasp to tuck himself into his covers. Burt pulled the covers up to his chin, kissed him on the forehead with a soft "Be brave, Kurt," and walked wearily from the room.

It wasn't until a few hours later that Kurt was awakened by a soft, coaxing voice issuing from the darkest corner of his room. The Demon immediately began to whisper its sweet, false promises, its voice sweeter and more tantalizing than ever before. It spun its best lies about his mommy coming back, his daddy being happy and proud, and even adding something new about being the most popular boy in the neighborhood. Kurt was almost sucked in, then he remembered what his daddy said before he left.

_Be brave, Kurt..._

Kurt was brave. Brave like his daddy. Brave for his daddy... and his mommy...

"I can't talk to you anymore," Kurt squeaked as courageously as he could. "You have to go play with someone else now."

There was a short silence in which Kurt thought he saw the shadows around the room darken.

"Why, Kurt?" shadow-friend implored, "don't you like me? Don't you want to be friends?"

Again, Kurt felt the pull of he Demons words. And again he remembered his daddy's voice:

_He's not nice... He'll hurt you._

_If Daddy says that shadow-friend isn't nice, then he must not be. He's lying. Just like Daddy said. I have to be brave. I have to be brave. I have to be-_

"Why doesn't your daddy want you to have a friend, Kurt? Doesn't he want you to be happy?" shadow-friend was trying to plant a seed of doubt in Kurt's mind, but it wasn't working. Kurt knew his daddy was right. He knew his daddy wanted him to be happy. He'd been trying so hard since his mommy died.

"I'll make other friends," Kurt replied, hoping with all his heart that it was true, "and so will you. Just because we can't be friends with each other doesn't mean other people won't be our friends."

This time the room seemed to get colder in the silence. When shadow-friend spoke again, there was no warmth in his voice.

"I don't want other friends, Kurt. I just want you. Do you really think me so replaceable? Is that what your daddy is teaching you? How to be ungrateful and take your friends for granted?"

Kurt shivered. He wasn't trying to hurt shadow-friend. He just wanted to keep his daddy happy. And why was shadow-friend talking about his daddy like that? _Daddy loves me , _Kurt thought defensively, _and he always teaches me right._

"Daddy teaches me to be nice to people who are nice. He says that you're not nice. He says you're just a big liar who's trying to hurt me." As Kurt reported this to the Demon, he half hoped that shadow-friend would prove him wrong, and that he and his daddy would be best friends so Kurt could have both of them and they would be a big family.

Shadow-friend didn't prove his daddy wrong though. Shadow-friend proved his daddy very, very right

The room got colder, the shadows darker, and the air became palpitated with a strange charge. "Your daddy is the liar, Kurt," the Demon said furiously. "He wants to rip us apart. He wants you to have no friends and be unhappy. He wants your mommy to stay dead forever. He thinks you are a freak because you play with dolls. He hates you because you prefer tea parties over sports. He is disgusted by you because you have crushes on boys. He-"

"No, no, NO!" Kurt shouted tearfully, covering his ears. "Daddy loves me. H-he doesn't care about all that stuff. Daddy loves me no matter what."

"No!" the Demon shouted, his voice ringing with cold fury and sending tremors throughout the room. "He doesn't. I'm the one who does not care about those things," the Demon's voice softened persuasively, "I'm the one who can make it all go away. Just let me in, Kurt. All you have to do is relax and you will never have to worry about anything again. I will take care of it for you."

This time there was no pull. The Demon wasn't his friend anymore. Not after he'd said all those terrible lies about his daddy.

"You have to go now," Kurt yelled, his legs pulled tight to his chest in an effort to guard himself from the Demon's wrath, "we're not friends anymore, so you have to go!"

_I love you, kid. Never, ever forget that._

The room shook harder as the Demon screamed in frustration. "Who has been here for weeks listening to you whine about how nobody likes you? ME! I have put up with your bitching about your worthless mother and your loathsome father for far too long to get nothing out of it. And now you just throw me out? NO! I shall not have it. So, you ungrateful little bastard, I _will_ have you."

The dark got thicker as, suddenly, Kurt's nightlight went out. Kurt screamed as the shadows closed in on him and began to thrash around in his bed as though he could fight them away. They were drowning him. Seeping into his mouth, nose, and ears. Kurt tried to shout for his daddy, but it was like someone had pressed a pillow over his face.

Burt was banging his fist on the door and half-sobbing Kurt's name as he heard the desperate, stifled sounds coming from inside. What had he done?

Kurt fought harder as he heard the Demon's voice coming from very far away in his head. "I have you now," it whispered maliciously. "So much pure, corruptible skin. So delicious..."

_ No, no, no, no, NO!_

Kurt screamed as loud as he could with the shadows still strangling him. He could feel himself slipping away as though he had been turned to water and was trickling through the Demon's hands.

_But I can't... can't go away. No... something here... something important._ Kurt was getting very tired from his fight. He just wanted to sleep and let someone else do the work for a while... but he couldn't. There was someone pounding on the door. They wouldn't let him sleep. It reminded him of something though... There was something important he needed to remember. Someone he needed to see. No, he couldn't sleep. His daddy told him to stay... he promised he would...

_I don't wanna lose you, too... You and me, that's all we got._

That was it.

His daddy. That's the important thing. He needed to stay for his daddy. His daddy who needed him. His daddy who loved him. His daddy who was pounding wildly at the door, shouting his name and begging the Demon to leave him alone.

Kurt felt the shadows get lighter as he thought of his daddy. He concentrated harder, allowing not only the love, but the care for his daddy to fill him up until there was nothing else. He remembered how he made sure his daddy took his vitamins at night after his mommy died. How he sang his daddy to sleep that night when he found him crying over Mommy. How he and his daddy had laughed together over the raw chicken.

There was an earsplitting scream and Kurt felt himself fly away.

When he opened his eyes, (he hadn't even realized that he'd closed them... not that open or closed made much difference in that dark), he first noticed that the lights were on again. They were very bright lights that hurt his tired eyes. Then he heard a strange sound in his ringing ears... someone was gasping... no sobbing. Someone was sobbing next to him. And, he registered as he became aware of his limbs, they were holding him very tightly. And the sobs were shaking his body... sobs that sounded familiar... and felt familiar the way his heart ached when he heard them.

"Daddy?" Kurt asked weakly. His tongue was heavy. His head was heavy, too. His whole body was heavy. He'd only just woken up, but already he wanted to sleep again.

"Kurt?" Burt answered frantically. "Kurt, buddy, is that you?" When the door finally opened, Burt had found Kurt passed out on the bed, his limbs splayed at odd angles, and feared the worst. After gathering every light in the house and placing it in his bedroom, he brought Kurt in there and prayed to every god that was known that his son's eyes would still be blue when he woke up.

"I told him to go away," Kurt said gently, "Just like you said, daddy. He got really mad, but I fought him off." He sat up and looked at his daddy, pride glowing dimly in his tiny features.

Burt gave a watery smile. That sounded like Kurt; always making sure his daddy knew when he succeeded. Burt looked into his sons big, perfect blue eyes to reassure himself. "That's great, kid," he said thickly, "I am so proud of you. And your mom would be... is proud, too." He clutched Kurt to his chest, smiling again when he felt Kurt grip him with his tiny hands. "I love you so much, Kurt. My big, brave Kurt."

He would most definitely be buying his son those shoes, and designer clothes for his dolls. Maybe he would even get him a whole new tea set... but he'd buy Kurt a bike, too.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt had nothing to do with Demons after that. There was the occasional whisper from the shadows over the years that would grow louder on the worse days, but he felt no temptation to respond. He simply shook it off. He carried on through the bullying, through coming out and through the bullying getting steadily worse. He did all he could to stave off the ever-present, ever-hungry darkness.

He sang it away with glee club, wove it away with fashion, even attempted to dance it away with the cheerios when neither seemed to be enough anymore. He avoided the dark at all costs, keeping a flashlight with him at all times. And whenever a rumor reached his ever-vigilant ear about a rogue Demon he never went within fifty feet of that person if he could help it.

There were developments in the Demon Wars over those eight years, of course. After it was discovered that people could fight the Demons for control after being Taken, the government had to be more careful. There were extensive (and supposedly painless, but Kurt seriously doubted that) tests performed on suspected Demons to ascertain that they were, in fact, Taken. No one knew what those tests were, no one knew what happened once the Demons were revealed because no one was allowed to know. But there was one thing everyone knew: the population of rogue Demons was increasing. Everywhere you seemed to see a flash of black in someone's eyes, and more and more frequently there came stories on the news of brutal murders that could only have been done by a Demon and friends, husbands, wives, mothers murdering loved ones that they thought to be Demons (only about a quarter of them were right). Despite everything: the government issued anti-Demon pamphlets that came weekly with updated information, the anti-Demon amulets, flashlights, wall paint, etc., the Department of Demon Detainment; nobody knew who to trust.

Kurt, however, knew exactly who to trust: nobody. Kurt never trusted anyone again after the fight for his body. Except his father.

That was, until he joined glee club. It was the first time he'd ever tried any extracurricular activity because extracurricular activities meant meeting people. People meant potential Demons. No, Kurt didn't need to meet people. But a singing club was more than he could resist.

He was glad he had allowed himself that small pleasure. For the first time in his life he was having... fun. Fun with people. He even made a friend, Mercedes. It took him a long time to accomplish even that, though, as he knew that Mercedes, like himself, was faced with prejudice ever day at school, but he didn't know if Mercedes was as strong as he was. As it turned out, she was every bit as strong as him. So strong that Kurt trusted her enough to come out to her, and her acceptance (along with the fact that her eyes had never once flashed black when she was upset at him) meant more to Kurt than she could ever imagine. After living so many years in fear of what people would do when they found something they could use against him, it was nice to have a friend.

Nonetheless, he refused trust everyone. That Rachel Berry was too ambitious and emotional, the Demons could take advantage of that; Tina had a stutter, not to mention she dressed like a vampire, so Kurt instantly wrote her off; Artie was a paraplegic, which made him entirely too vulnerable;and Finn Hudson was one of the dumbest people he had ever met, therefore it would be all too easy for the Demons to trick him. The cheerios were too bitchy for Kurt to want to go near them anyhow, so he didn't even bother with them. As for the football players, Kurt would never trust a Letterman's jacket.

Well, he didn't trust them until he fell in love with one. It would humiliate him to think of it later but, in his defense, his crush on Finn was not his fault. He had simply been carrying out the absolutely necessary precaution of carefully-observe-to-determine-threat-level and before he knew what was going on, it had become staring-dotingly-to-memorize-every-handsome-feature. Despite the bullying in the past, Finn had helped Kurt on numerous occasions, in some small ways and in some bigger ways. And he honestly believed that Finn really was a decent guy. But it distracted him. He let his guard down, and tried to open up to someone who was incapable of returning his feelings. The shadows grew louder during that time.

Junior year was going to be a fresh start for Kurt. He was no longer an underclassman, New Directions were going to be working hard to go to nationals, and he felt stronger than he'd been last year. Best of all, he'd given up on Finn completely. He was more cautious, more confident, and more fabulous.

Then the second week of school came.

Nothing had improved. Nothing. If anything, everything was worse. School was nearly unbearable with the slushies, and dumpster-throwing and name-calling. Being in New Directions had put him on the radar like nothing before, and once you're on, it's almost impossible to dig yourself back under. Then his father got sick, and, once again, he crushed on a guy who was straight. God, how the shadows had screamed at him. Their promises so inviting that Kurt was on the verge of collapsing under the weight of it all. He struggled to remember his father. He tried so very hard to keep it all away, but it just kept adding, piling, building until his shoulders physically bent from it. Every day the same damn thing: Go to school, get bullied, sing background for Finn and Rachel, go home, take care of his father, do homework, got to sleep, rinse and repeat. And, to top it all off, an aching loneliness.

About a week after the duets competition, three Demons were dragged from the school by DDD agents. One, a teacher, was taken directly from Kurt's pre-calculus class. She cried as they carried her away, screaming for her children. Then her eyes turned black as pitch and she tried to kill everyone in range. Kurt no longer felt sorry.

The next day, Karofsky caused him to change his outfit three times due to ice and artificial flavoring, gave him at least five new bruises on his shoulders from the cold metal lockers, and shouted a slur at him whenever he was in range.

The day after that he "visited" Dalton Academy.

And all the days that followed would never be the same because of that one hazel-eyed boy that turned to him on the staircase that day.

"I'm Blaine," he said, holding out his hand to Kurt without hesitation.

Kurt gripped it guardedly and replied "Kurt."

During their brief exchange, Kurt couldn't help but notice what a gorgeous smile Blaine had. _Wait_, he scolded himself internally, _I don't know this guy. It's not safe. Remember last time? Remember last week?_ It seemed his hormones didn't realize the risk however, as he continued to admire how fit the shorter boy (short had never looked so good) seemed in the Dalton Academy uniform, and how his eyes sparkled when he talked about the Warblers. He had just been wondering what Blaine's hair would look like if it wasn't pasted to his head (and what it would feel like when he ran his fingers through it... although, if he did it right then he imagined it would feel rather sticky), when a callused hand was grabbing onto his.

For a split second, Kurt froze. He stared at the offending hand that had so boldly grasped his, assessing what would be the quickest way to chop it off. Then his blue eyes met Blaine's hazel ones, and all of his inhibitions fell away... well, it was more like he dropped them, but either way they were gone.

_He's holding my hand. HE's holding my hand. He's holding my hand. Where are we? There are so many blazers here, everyone is going to know I'm a spy... He's touching me again. Why does he keep doing that? And why do I kinda like it? Wait, he's a warbler? Why didn't he... Who cares, he's singing! And he's... incredible. Oh god, was he looking at me? He wants me to be his teenage dream? Yes, he's definitely looking at me. No he's not, stop being delusional right now, Kurt Hummel... Damn, they're good. We're doomed... He's still looking at me!_

All the while he was thinking this, Kurt could not get the dopey grin off of his face. It was the most reckless he had ever been with his emotions. And the day had barely started.

** Blaine**

Blaine watched Kurt thoughtfully as he introduced Wes and David. He'd already noticed how cute Kurt was when he first saw him on the staircase, but now he saw something more in that soft, porcelain face: misery. Something else had brought Kurt here. He wasn't just scoping out the competition.

"Are you guys all gay?" Kurt asked tentatively.

He practically flinched when Blaine chuckled at the question and he instantly felt remorse... _wait a minute... felt? No, not felt... faked. _"Uh, uh, no, I mean I am, but these two have girlfriends." The fact that Blaine was gay seemed to cheer Kurt up slightly.

And the way Kurt looked when Wes and David explained the zero-tolerance bullying policy; like the concept was completely foreign to him. Foreign and beautiful. He knew that feeling.

"Would you guys excuse us?" Blaine asked Wes and David.

As they left, Blaine continued to study Kurt. Just how much was Kurt like him? "I take it you're having trouble in school." He stated the obvious instead of asking him the question that was burning in his mind... and heart. _He can't be... he's too innocent._

"I'm the... only person out of the closet at my school... and I try and stay strong about it," Kurt appeared to be holding back tears as he confessed this, "but there's this neanderthal who's made it his mission to make my life a living hell. And nobody seems to notice."

Blaine felt a strange pull in his chest area. It took him a few moments to identify the sensation, as he had refrained from letting anything of the kind happen in years. He felt... empathy. _No, absolutely not_, he growled at himself internally. He pushed down the feelings and attempted to comfort Kurt as remotely as possible.

"I know how you feel," Blaine said (because that seemed the appropriate thing to say, not because he was actually experiencing it just then... because he wasn't), "I got taunted at my old school and it really... pissed me off," (he was faking the anger in his voice, he had to be), "I even complained about it to the faculty. And they were sympathetic and all, but you could just tell that nobody really cared," (just like he didn't care, not one bit). "It was like 'Hey, if you're gay, your life's just gonna be miserable, sorry. Nothing we can do about it.' So I left. I came here. Simple as that," (he wasn't sad, he was just tired). "So, you have two options, I mean, I'd love to tell you to just come and enroll here," (not because he felt anything for Kurt... He just wanted Kurt to be safe), "but tuition at Dalton is sort of steep and I know that's not an option for everybody. _Or _you can refuse to be the victim." (Was Kurt a victim already? A victim of something far worse than a high school bully?). "Prejudice is just ignorance Kurt. You have a chance right now to teach him."

"How?" Kurt questioned.

With that small word, Blaine could see how lost Kurt was. But lost to what? Blaine couldn't shake the curiosity that burned within him, no matter how many years of his life he'd spent suppressing it... and everything else.

"Confront him," Blaine answered, "Call him out... I ran, Kurt. I didn't stand up. I let bullies chase me away and it is something I really, really regret." Wait, no. He didn't regret it. Why did he say that? He doesn't regret anything. He doesn't _feel_ anything.

"But wh-what if he's-" Kurt stopped with a gasp. Blaine could tell he hadn't meant to say that. It had just slipped out. But it was too late. Blaine knew what he had meant and it sent him reeling.

Usually people try not to even consider Demons when dealing with every day situations. It was clear by what Kurt said that he did. That can only mean one of two things: he's had experience with Demons before (maybe even as they spoke Kurt was hearing those deathly whispers from the shadows), or he was one and he was afraid of what would happen if he confronted another Demon.

_That's stupid. You're being stupid. Kurt is just a superstitious person who believes all bad people are Demons, or something. Or he could've been about to ask "what if he's armed" or "what if he's dangerous"._

Kurt seemed to realize that Blaine knew what he hadn't said, however, because he opened and closed his mouth several times before leaning forward with a glance around the room and saying as quietly as possible: "Do-do you ever hear them?" Kurt took deep breath, "the shadows, I mean. Do they... do they talk to you?" He was trembling and Blaine felt the sudden urge to hold him until the shaking ceased... and maybe he wouldn't let go even then.

Blaine shook himself mentally. He did not have that urge because he didn't have any urges. Ever.

"Not-not so much anymore," Blaine answered carefully. No, not carefully. If he'd been answering carefully he would have just said yes or no. Either of those would be careful answers. The one he'd given was far too informative.

Kurt glanced around nervously again. When he continued, he dropped his voice so low that Blaine had to lean forward to hear.

"I just... they've been... loud." Kurt fidgeted in his chair, clearly very uncomfortable with divulging these things to a stranger. But still, he continued. "And... it's kind of... scaring me. I mean... did they ever do that to you? And how did you get rid of them?"

_Well, he's not a demon._ Blaine knew that if Kurt were a Demon he wouldn't be hearing the voices anymore. Or he could be a Demon who was trying to mislead him. Since when was he so suspicious and paranoid about someone's Taken status? Was it because Kurt was going through the same things he went through? Or was it because he wanted to know that he wasn't the only one fighting?

"Well," Blaine thought it over cautiously, "yes. They got louder when the bullying got worse. And I still do hear them sometimes. But since I transferred to Dalton it's been, uh, it's been easier."

There. That was a good cover for what he'd said earlier. And, by the way he was looking round the room with ever increasing interest, he'd say Kurt bought it.

"Look, Kurt," Blaine began, although he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted Kurt to see, "it would be great to have you here, but I really think you should try to make it work at your school first. If you at least try, then maybe you won't regret it if you have to leave anyways... So will you do it?" He didn't know why he said this. Kurt would be safest here, yet he was trying to convince him not to come. Well, Kurt might be safe here, if he didn't stay too close to Blaine. He couldn't decide if he was being selfish or selfless.

However, it appeared that Kurt established that for him, as his eyes dropped dispiritedly to the coffee he was holding. "I'll try," he said, then, after glancing around yet again, "I should go. I've kept you long enough."

"Okay," Blaine responded, "It was nice meeting you, Kurt. Good luck." Good luck? Why did he say that? It was a stupid, tactless thing to say.

Kurt nodded, his frown deepening, and walked away.

Blaine was at a loss. What did he say? He just didn't want Kurt going through exactly what he had gone through... he didn't want Kurt to end up like him. That's why he had asked Kurt not to transfer... _Oh._

_ Of course Kurt is upset,_ Blaine berated himself, _ I basically told him that I don't want him around. He trusted me enough to tell me about the bullying and the shadows and I just-_

"Kurt!" Blaine called as he spotted the taller boy at the top of the staircase. How did he get here? When had he decided to run after Kurt? _Why_ had he decided to run after Kurt? Was he becoming so impulsive that he wasn't even aware of his own actions? No, he couldn't afford to be impulsive. _I have to regain control._

Too late, he realized he was half-jogging up the steps to get to where Kurt paused in his hasty retreat. "Hey, Kurt, wait up."

Kurt regarded Blaine conservatively and waited for him to speak.

"I, uh, I forgot to, um, get your number," _WHAT?_ "You know, so you can in-inform me on the whole bully situation." _Stop talking. Stop talking now. _"And I'll give you mine, too. Just in case you want to... talk about some things." _Fantastic. Just great. Why do I care? I can't care. I don't care... I just don't want Kurt to end up like me, that's all... Please, please don't let Kurt end up like me._

Kurt brightened, so apparently Blaine had done something right. They exchanged numbers, and Kurt was considerably happier when he left this time.

Blaine, however, was not happy. He should have just let Kurt go. Maybe Kurt wouldn't want to come back after Blaine basically blew him off, although very politely and unintentionally. That would have been better for all involved. Especially Blaine, as, even now, he could feel the Demon stirring; awakened by the alarm of his own frustration and self-doubt. Awakened for the first time in a year because Blaine had allowed himself to feel. Awakened because of Kurt.


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine. Kurt rolled the name around in his head as he lay on his bed some hours later. He'd always had a weakness for boys, but never had he let anyone in so quickly, no matter how brief or limited the conversation actually was. He felt like a fool for telling Blaine what little he did when he had only just met him, but at the same time, Blaine is the only person he'd ever met that knew exactly what he was going through. He continued to stare at the number in his phone, waging a silent war in his head.

_ Just text him, it's not a big deal to just say hi. I'll just thank him for everything he said today... But what if he thinks it's weird that I'm texting him only a few hours after he gave me his number? He'll think I'm clingy... Wait. Stop. What am I thinking? This is the last thing I need to be worrying about. Normal kids worry about this. Kids who aren't vulnerable. Kids who don't have to be on guard for their entire lives. I have no idea who this guy is. I only know that he's been through a lot. It's very likely that he's... But would it really be so terrible to see him again to get to know him a little? Just to see if he is a... No. It's too dangerous. There were three this week..._

And on it went like this for the next twenty-four hours.

It seemed that Blaine wasn't going to leave him hanging, however. Kurt was just beginning to think that the number exchange was just a courtesy, when Blaine sent him some words of encouragement. Or rather, a word of encouragement.

_Courage – Blaine _his phone informed him during the girls' mash-up. His heart warmed ever so slightly at the sight. Blaine was thinking of him.

And again, as he walked down the hall not two hours later, his phone read _Courage – Blaine. _ For that one second he let the happiness fill him. For that one perfect second he let his suspicions go and enjoyed the thought that someone cared about him.

Then it was shattered. It was, quite literally, torn from his hands and smacked out of him as though it was nothing. As though he was nothing.

He looked up just in time to see Karofsky shooting him a very superior look, as though he heard what Kurt was thinking and felt the need to confirm it.

And Kurt snapped. Karofsky couldn't take that, too. He wouldn't take that. Kurt was going to take that moment back.

_Courage._

"Hey!" he shouted as he pelted after the Letterman jacket. "I am talking to you!" There was a voice screaming in his head, telling him to turn around. Telling him to run and hide. Telling him it wasn't safe. Too right it was.

"Girls' locker room's next door," Karofsky grunted without turning around.

That enraged Kurt even more. Karofsky was not going to act like Kurt doesn't have a right to be angry. Kurt had every right to be angry. And he was going to make Karofsky understand that. "What is your problem?"

"S'cuse me?"

There he goes again. There is no way he does not know what he's doing to Kurt.

_You have a chance right now to teach him._

So Kurt pressed on. Kurt yelled and yelled back. He could see Karofsky getting angry; it was an anger akin to the Hulk before he transforms into an uncontrollable monster. And still Kurt fought. There was an alarm going off in his head, but Kurt was so determinedly angry that he failed to notice it. Karofsky was going to understand.

Then it happened, and Kurt's bravery was for naught. Karofsky's face was diving toward his and meaty, sweaty hands were smothering his cheeks. Kurt couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He could only stand there, prisoner in his own body, and watch as his first real kiss was stolen from him. No, he wasn't just watching. He didn't have that luxury. He had to feel. He had to feel the chapped lips, the teeth, the hot breath. It choked him. It poisoned him. It broke him. Trapped in those few seconds that Karofsky's lips were latched onto his were a thousand pieces of Kurt's mind and heart that he would never get back.

It was when Karofsky pulled away that the true horror began.

Karofsky's eyes were not the flat brown he was used to. They were black as pitch. A black so deep and dark that no light could be reflected in it. They were the eyes of a Demon.

A silent scream of terror ripped through Kurt's mind and body as he looked upon the thing. _I have to run,_ he told himself desperately. _I have to get out. Please move, move! Please!_

It was too late. The brief window he had while the Demon took over Karofsky completely was gone, and it was pinning him to the lockers by his neck. It's face hovered in front of Kurt's, gazing down at him with a feral snarl.

This was it. He was going to die. He was going to die in the boys' locker room. He never imagined death would smell so bad.

"You are the one," it said in Karofsky's voice, but somehow not in Karofsky's voice. It was silkier, more deadly. "You have been scaring poor David. Yes, we know that it has been you that calls the DDD agents here. David is frightened that we will be discovered." It looked down on him with such contempt that Kurt felt his blood turn to ice. "I told him to just kill you. But David is soft. And he likes how soft you are as well." The Demon brought its hand to Kurt's face, trailing a thick finger from his temple to his chin. "He fears that when you are gone he will truly be alone, so he tortures you to get close to you, but never would he want you dead. But David is not here now. No one is here now." The Demon smiled and traced his finger lower.

Kurt finally found his voice when he felt it ghost over his collarbone. He screamed. He screamed loud enough to make his throat bleed.

The Demon looked furious for a moment, then the anger drained as the eyes flashed brown, only to return with the black. It grunted in defeat and held on just long enough to say "If you ever say anything about any of this to anyone, I will kill you. And David will not be able to save you then."

The black faded and Karofsky's brown eyes stared at Kurt in horror. He looked... remorseful. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then walked hurriedly from the room. Just before he left, he turned back to Kurt, and he could have sworn he saw the larger boy's mouth form the words "I'm so sorry."

It was a few minutes before Kurt could get his muscles to work properly again. And when he was able to move, he merely crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut and wept. He wept for what seemed like hours on the dirty locker room floor. Until he heard footsteps outside and forced his legs to carry him into the showers. As he hid, crouched in the last stall, Kurt heard several boys enter and begin to change. They would stuff him into a locker if they found him there, accusing him of voyeurism. He should have run out when he had the chance. But it seemed that his body would not be his ally today.

He was just wondering how long he would have to wait there, when he recognized a few friendly voices; the glee boys were apparently having some kind of discussion about the mash-up competition.

"I don't know, dude," Puck was saying, "does it look like I know anything about chick music?"

There was a brief silence.

"Where's Kurt?" Finn asked abruptly, and Kurt flinched at the sound of his own name. "I mean, he was supposed to be helping us... and he knows more about this stuff than we do. But I didn't see him at lunch."

"I noticed the absence of Kurt, too," Artie noted, "it's strange. I thought he would relish the opportunity to boss us all around, but he hasn't shown up to any of our mash-up meetings."

"Yeah," Sam said a bit guiltily, "he hasn't really talked to me since the other day. Has he said anything to any of you guys?"

He heard the boys murmur guilty "no"s, but Kurt was too spent to take pleasure in the fact that they were feeling bad for the way they treated him.

"Maybe you should apologize, man," Mike said, and based on the indignant sputtering from Puck, Kurt could guess at whom the suggestion was aimed.

"You were kind of a jerk to him," Finn said fairly.

"I didn't see any of you guys coming to his rescue," Puck retorted. "Hummel should be able to stand up for himself by now, anyways. It's not my fault if he wants to run away and cry like a girl."

There were more mutters, none of which sounded defensive or chivalrous. They sounded quite agreeable to the statement, actually. Kurt felt as though someone had punched him in the chest on top of the deep, mortal wound he was already sporting. He knew that most of the school hated him for being himself, but for his own friends to think that he deserved to be treated badly for that was another thing entirely.

After the guys left, Kurt tried to get up and walk out, but his legs refused to support him. He fell back to the ground and continued to sob in the small dark space. He had never felt so defeated.

In less than twenty minutes, Kurt lost his tentative grip on reality, his basic knowledge of safety, and his precarious support system. He heard the whispers start up from the shadows, slowly increasing in volume as Kurt continued to ponder all that had happened to him in that short span of time. They promised to take his contaminated body off of his hands for him. They swore revenge on any person that dare touch him. They even went so far as to promise to assure that he would achieve fame and make them all sorry they had ever said anything against him.

"Shut up!" he roared, his shaky hands flying to his ears in defense. He should not have said anything, but they had pushed him too far. Maybe it was the promises of fame (if anyone was going to make Kurt Hummel famous, it would be Kurt Hummel), maybe it was just that his head was pounding from his ordeal and the shouting from the darkness was making it worse.

The voices paused briefly, then they were shouting so loud that Kurt couldn't make out anything in the din.

Of course. Kurt had shown them that they were getting to him by shouting. He had given them an opening. _Leave me alone, _he begged silently, squeezing his eyes shut and clamping his hands so tightly over his ears that it hurt. _Please just leave me alone._

It was almost too much to take. And he probably would have remained there, trembling on the filthy floor of the shower stall, until someone came along to put him out of his misery (or until he could get up to do it himself), but something moved him. There were two things, two wonderful things that got him to collect himself and walk away from that collapsed world: his father, and Blaine's courage.

So, with those two life lines, he lifted himself from the cold tile.

Just before he left, Sam came in (which caused Kurt to start horribly and start to run halfway through the rows of lockers), shouting something about re-wrapping his shoulder to an unseen person behind him. He froze when he saw Kurt, but Kurt pretended not to see him.

He heard Sam say something like "Kurt? What's wrong?" but he didn't spare him a glance. He simply kept running, not waiting to hear the accusations of femininity or perversion. He didn't want to be quizzed on what he heard, or why he was shaking so horribly. No, he didn't feel like being interrogated. He felt like being heard.

With that thought, he was dialing the number of the one person who would not only listen, but understand.

**Blaine**

_Staring isn't getting you anywhere_, Blaine thought to himself as he brushed his calculus homework aside and pulled his laptop forward to work on his English essay. He decided he would ask David about the math later. Besides, he was much better at English. He remembered his English teachers always singing out their praises at his essays; until this year, when his teacher started marking him down because she thought his essays were "too mechanical".

He was just beginning to type the first body paragraph of the essay, when his cell phone rang. Usually, he didn't like to break his concentration for too long when writing because it was difficult for him to get his line of thought back. Therefore, it was routine for him to check his phone to make sure it wasn't his aunt (which was almost never), and toss it aside. But, even though the name on the display clearly wasn't Aunt Charlotte, Blaine held the phone steady as it rang, torn.

_ Kurt._

Blaine gazed at the name. He expected Kurt to contact him eventually, particularly after he texted Kurt those meaningless words that he only sent to keep up the mask of friendliness (that's what he convinced himself, at least), but it was supposed to be through a brief "thank you" text, and maybe later a slightly longer text notifying him what on happened between him and the bully. It was never supposed to be a call. Why was Kurt calling him in the first place?

_It doesn't matter_, Blaine thought almost apathetically, _just ignore the call and send him a text later saying you were busy. And are busy. There's no need to talk to him._

His thumb was hovering over the end button on his cell phone, but instead he hit send.

"Hello?" he said, silently cursing his traitorous thumb.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked, "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

Blaine couldn't think of anything more disrupting than a phone call, as they were nearly always unpredictable, but rather than pointing that out he said "No, you're just saving me from an English essay. What's up?"

"Oh, you're busy," Kurt mumbled anxiously, "it can wait. I'll just let you go."

"Wait a minute, what kind of savior would you be if you abandoned me already?" _Why is this so easy with him?_ Blaine wondered briefly before continuing, "What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Kurt?"

Kurt took a few shaky breaths and Blaine realized that he really was upset about something. He waited patiently for Kurt to steady himself enough to tell him.

"I took your advice," Kurt began tensely.

_Oh no,_ Blaine thought, _that tone does not sound promising at all. You probably got him tossed in a dumpster or worse. He could be calling you from the hospital right now, and all because you had to open your big mouth to give some of your crap advice. _He forced his brain to shut up as Kurt continued.

"And well..." another deep, shuddering breath, "it, um, it didn't go well," Kurt finished lamely.

Blaine closed his eyes and suppressed a sigh. Kurt sounded like he was holding back tears. Why, _why_ did he always have to stick his nose where it didn't belong? Hadn't he learned that whenever he got involved in anything it only caused pain to everyone else, no matter what his intentions?

"Kurt, I'm so sorry," Blaine said sincerely (no, with false sincerity). "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault," Kurt responded quietly, "you never could've predicted-" he broke off with a sharp gasp.

Blaine's stomach dropped like lead at the sound. _Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh _god_! He couldn't be. Kurt would have known and told me if he was. What if Kurt didn't know? What if you sent him right in to the arms of that thing? What if it hurt him? It would be all your fault. _Blaine was too invested in Kurt to realize or care that there were a thousand different emotions whirling around inside of him at that moment; his sole focus was Kurt.

"I'm sorry," Kurt sniffled, "it's just... I don't feel safe talking to you about this," Blaine held his breath, if Kurt felt unsafe around him now, then maybe he already_ - _"while I'm still at school. I just feel like he's going to pop out of the backseat like something out of a slasher movie," (clearly Kurt wasn't in a hospital). "Can I call you back when I'm... anywhere else?"

"Why didn't you wait until you felt safe to call me?" Blaine blurted before he could stop himself.

There was a short pause on the other line, and, for a moment, Blaine was afraid that his blunt question had offended Kurt. Then, "I guess I just needed to hear a friendly voice."

Blaine quickly distracted himself from the rush of affection he felt for Kurt at the words "friendly voice" by focusing on the fact that whatever happened, it made Kurt feel so insecure that he needed comfort just to get off the campus. Kurt deserved more than just a voice though, he deserved-

"Hey, do you wanna meet somewhere, maybe?" Blaine asked, surprising himself. "I mean, it sounds like you could use some company and I really don't want to work on this English paper so maybe it would be a good idea."

Apparently Kurt was taken aback as well, for it was a few seconds before he answered.

"Thank you for offering, Blaine," he said heavily, "but," (Blaine's spirits plummeted at the word), "it would be... careless. No one can know. I shouldn't be telling you in the first place. I'm just involving you in something that's not your concern, and you've been through enough as it is. Plus, I would definitely get k-in trouble if someone were to hear me telling you. Not to mention-"

"Okay, I get it," Blaine interrupted, "just get somewhere safe and call me."

"But I probably shouldn't," Kurt protested abruptly. "Maybe you should just forget I called and go on with your essay. You don't need this."

Blaine hadn't anticipated an objection. It left him dumbfounded. Why was Kurt trying to protect him? What was Kurt trying to protect him from?

"Kurt," he said calmly, "I meant it when I said that I wanted you to talk to me about this. I know what it's like, remember? I don't want you to be alone like I was. You can trust me with this." He almost said "you can trust me," but he didn't want to lie to Kurt.

Kurt sighed and replied "Okay. I'll call you back in about ten minutes."

"Drive safe, Kurt," Blaine said considerately.

"Mmm," Kurt hummed gratefully just before hanging up.

Blaine watched his phone for a couple seconds, as though he expected Kurt to leap out of it. Kurt and his beautiful, high voice, which he quite liked hearing. Kurt whom he had goaded into facing a dangerous bully. Kurt who had god knows what horror inflicted on him because of Blaine's meddling. Kurt who was making him feel.

_What am I doing? Snap out of it, Blaine, before-_

Blaine hadn't caught himself soon enough. He felt like a shadow had been cast over his mind; the Parasite was stirring. Blaine had barely contained it last time, and he'd had a much smaller dose of Kurt. He frantically attempted to drain himself of emotion, but in his agitated state he was left wide open.

There was a distant chuckle echoing inside of his head. It was as though a large vulture were descending upon his body. He could feel it getting closer, and he wanted to fight it, but that chance had long passed. He was just a carcass waiting to be devoured.

His heart beat hollowly a few times before it was locked in ice, but there was something left in that empty space. Something he couldn't define, even while it was giving him the strength to hold on.

Blaine threw him self out of his desk chair and onto the cold ground. His body shook violently as he attempted to maintain control. Still, he tried to crawl to his dresser, determined to get to the one thing that would stop the Parasite. It growled as it saw the object flash across Blaine's mind and redoubled its efforts.

He felt as though he were drowning in the dark, with nothing to hold onto. No one was throwing him a life line. He was all alone.

Blaine collapsed with his hand on the bottom drawer, where it was hidden.

_Well,_ he thought bitterly, as he felt himself fading into shadow, _looks like I won't be getting that call, Kurt. You'll have to fight this on your own... I'm so sorry. But you're probably better off that way anyways._

He closed his eyes, expecting the ability to control his limbs to evaporate, followed by his ability to think clearly, finishing with his awareness of self .

Instead, Kurt's face filled his mind. His eyes that had shined so bright when Blaine asked for his number. His skin that seemed to emit its own light. His smile that could melt Antarctica.

Then darker images assaulted his imagination. He pictured that beautiful boy at the mercy of some nameless, faceless creature; all because of Blaine. And now he needed Blaine to be there for him, to help him understand, to help him get back his courage, and Blaine was going to abandon him.

_What kind of savior would I be if I abandoned him already? _Blaine asked himself.

_ You would be exactly what you are, _the Parasite said, _damned._

_ No, _he growled defiantly.

Blaine's eyes opened. He found himself staring at his desk, where he left his phone. The Parasite was still trying to take hold of him, but its grip was slackening.

He got up, still shaking, but steady enough to stagger to his desk.

_But what if you can't help him?_ the Parasite challenged

Blaine stumbled in response, doubt feeding the shadows that were attacking his body.

_What if you can't do or say anything that will undo what happened?_

Blaine's feet froze without his consent and his body lurched forward. His head smacked into the shelf above his desk, his flailing arms accidentally wiping the desk of his possessions.

He clutched his burning forehead as he hit the ground, rolling slightly as he fought the pain and the Parasite simultaneously.

He struggled to regain control of his legs, telling himself repeatedly _I have to try_, _I have to try, I have to try. _The mantra worked for a time; the shadow was retreating from his legs. Once he reacquired the feeling in his feet, Blaine forced his arms beneath his body so that he could lift himself from the ground.

Just before he got off of his knees, Blaine heard a faint buzz. He looked down to see his cell phone on the floor a few feet away, displaying Kurt's name for the second time that evening. He reached for it, only to have his arm redirected to the wall beside him. He gritted his teeth as he felt the hard surface scrape his knuckles.

_Don't answer, _it whispered, _let him be alone, as you were alone until I found you._

_No, _he told it resolutely, reaching again for his phone and this time finding minimal resistance. As he closed his fingers around it triumphantly, he heard the faintest _you will fail_, and was all the quicker to press send.

"Hey, Kurt," he panted into the receiver, "ready to talk?"

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked with a soft sniff. "Y-you sound like you just ran a mile."

"What?" Blaine hadn't realized he was breathing heavily. The fight took much more out of him than he thought.

"You're panting," Kurt pointed out helpfully.

"Yeah," Blaine said, rapidly conjuring a decent lie (fortunately, after a year of faking nearly all of his emotions, he was quite adept at it), "I went down stairs to get... something, and I realized I left my phone in my room, so I ran back up to get my phone, and, lo and behold, it was ringing. If I'd been any slower I would have missed you. So these are pants of dedication."

Blaine would never know about the warm smile Kurt cracked at those words. "Thank you," he said, sounding pleasantly shocked. "I suppose I should talk now..."

Blaine hated the way Kurt's voice shook. It made him that much more anxious to hear what happened. He was beginning to get frustrated as he continued to imagine possible scenarios, each one worse than the last. Rather than telling Kurt all of this, he simply said "Take your time, Kurt."

There was a heavy silence in which Blaine could hear Kurt moving something around on an unknown surface in an unknown room. For a second, he imagined being in that room with Kurt. He pictured standing in what he assumed was Kurt's bedroom, instead of speaking to him through a cold metal object with miles of empty distance separating them. He envisaged himself holding Kurt, wiping away his tears. And he wanted it. He wanted it like a drowning man wants air. For a moment, he even allowed himself to sink into it, savoring the fantasy. Then he whipped his imagination into shape, and forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand.

It was a full minute before Kurt spoke, and even then his voice shook so much that Blaine was basically shoving the phone in his ear, so as not to miss a single word.

"I confronted him," Kurt began, "I-I chased him. I followed him into the locker room. We were alone in there and... and... I messed up," there was a soft, choked sob, "I was so _stupid_ about it, Blaine. I... there was no one. No one to witness. It was just me and him. God, how could I have been so incautious?"

"Don't do that," Blaine cut in vehemently, "don't blame yourself. _This was not your fault, Kurt_. Bullies are unpredictable. You never could've known what he would do." _If anyone's, the fault is mine, _Blaine added mentally. He didn't want to say it out loud because he knew Kurt would defend him. He didn't deserve to be defended.

Blaine pictured Kurt nodding jerkily before continuing. "I was just... I was so _angry_. I was angry that he made me feel worthless. I was angry that I let him make me feel that way. I just wanted him to see... to understand what he was doing to me. I wasn't... I didn't consider the consequences."

There was another pause, and, much as Blaine didn't want to push Kurt, the suspense was killing him. "What happened after you followed him into the locker room?"

"He still didn't... He acted like he didn't do anything wrong. And I... snapped. I yelled at him. I said things... I tried to hurt him, like he's been hurting me every single day for the past two years. And he yelled back... at first. Then he... he..." Kurt was sobbing brokenly. It was a terrible, beautiful sound that could shatter the Earth. Blaine actually looked down to make sure there were no cracks in the floor, because how could it be so perfectly whole when Kurt Hummel was so perfectly broken?

Blaine felt a frantic tug at his heart at the sound and several horrible images came to mind as he tried to deduce what the monstrous animal had done to Kurt. Those images mixed with wonderful mental pictures of himself holding Kurt, stroking his soft, pale skin until the tears were gone. His poor brain was so terribly confused by the montage that he felt he had gone temporarily insane. The not knowing was the worst part. He knew Kurt couldn't be doing it on purpose, but it wasn't any less torturous. Blaine had to know now. He _had_ to.

"What did he do, Kurt?" he asked tenderly, being as kind as possible as he tried to pry the information out of Kurt.

There was a deep, despairing sob, then Kurt whispered "he kissed me."

Blank. That was it. Just blank. Nothing. Blaine couldn't speak. He couldn't think. He couldn't even breathe. He felt like a building collapsed in him. He could feel something rising in him, bubbling just beneath the surface of composure. He didn't know what it was – it could have been anything from righteous fury to devastating heartbreak. If he went anywhere near it or attempted to process it, he would break. He would rage or cry and he wouldn't do that in front of Kurt. He needed to get out.

But he couldn't leave Kurt, and he couldn't escape himself. No, there was only one thing to do. He had to fake it. He had to leave the emotions to simmer until he could deal with them.

"Kurt, I-I'm so sorry," He began, "I never thought something like that... I never thought he would be one of _those_ homophobes." Was that tactless? He couldn't tell, he was too closed off.

There was a loud hiccup at the word "homophobes" and Blaine winced at the sound. _Yeah, it was tactless._

"Th-those homophobes?" Kurt choked.

"An in-the-closet-homophobe. It's this psychological thing I was reading about that said most homophobes are gay people who are in the closet and are so ashamed of themselves that they bully those of us who are out and proud. I think that's your bully."

He heard Kurt hiccup again, more softly this time. "So, you think he may... have... be..." the thought was apparently too horrible for Kurt to voice.

Blaine searched for something, anything to say that would take the ache out of Kurt's heart. But he couldn't undo the past.

"Listen, Kurt," Blaine said, although he didn't know what to say. "Maybe I could talk to him. Maybe once he understands that he's not alone he'll-"

"No," Kurt said sharply.

"But if it would get him to leave you alone-"

"Don't, Blaine," his voice was softer this time, but no less stern. "He'll only deny it, then who knows what will happen of you pressure him. He's already proved himself to be unpredictable. Don't give him another reason to hurt someone."

"I'll be fine, Kurt," Blaine reassured gently.

"No you won't," Kurt's voice broke again, "I know what he's capable of."

"You can come with me. And we'll be safe. We'll talk to him in a public area so he can't-"

"I said no, Blaine," Kurt almost shouted, then his voice softened considerably as he said, "can we just drop it, please?"

Blaine thought for a moment. He knew by vehemency of his protests that Kurt wasn't telling him the whole story. Something else happened in that locker room. Much as his curiosity itched at the realization, Blaine didn't think he could handle knowing anything else.

"Okay," he agreed softly, "what about Dalton?"

Yet again, the phone went quiet on the other end. This time, Blaine waited with much more patience.

"I don't know, Blaine," he sighed after some time, "we don't have very much money, and it's so far away. And my dad recently had some-some health issues. I just don't know if I can do that to him."

"Well, can you handle going back to school? Will you really feel safe going back there on Monday?"

"I'm never safe," Kurt reasoned, "you know that as well as I do."

Somewhere in the back of his mind Blaine wondered if Kurt meant more than the obvious by that statement. "Yes, but you shouldn't have to be terrified all the time," Blaine argued. "You have the right to feel safe at your school Kurt, and only ah-Dalton can provide that for you." Dalton, not Blaine.

"I can provide that for me, too," Kurt said stubbornly. "McKinley has an independent study program. I could-"

"What about singing? What about friends? You'd be all alone, Kurt, and I know you don't want that." Blaine didn't even know why he was pushing so hard. Why was Kurt's happiness so important to him?

"You have no idea what I want," Kurt responded defensively. "And perhaps alone is just another word for safe."

"Zero-tolerance harassment policy is another word for safe," Blaine countered fiercely. This was turning into a fight, and if Blaine didn't put an end to it quickly, he was going to cause Kurt more grief than he already has. "Just think about it, okay?" he requested. "Just consider all the options before you rule anything out... Please?"

There was a snort on the other line as Kurt said "I already tried taking your advice, don't you recall? And look where it's gotten me."

The smallest indignant gasp escaped his lips before Blaine had to acknowledge that Kurt was right. Blaine was asking him to run from one monster to another.

Kurt sighed for the umpteenth time. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I just..." another sigh, "it's been a long day. I appreciate your help. And I don't blame you for..."

Blaine inhaled deeply. "I know. You've been through a lot today. You're allowed to be..." He cleared his throat. He didn't want to say anything to offend Kurt.

"Bitchy?" Kurt supplied helpfully.

Blaine chuckled softly. "I would call it... snappy."

Kurt groaned. "You make me sound like a temperamental puppy."

Blaine felt a smile tug at his lips. Kurt was calming down. "I was actually thinking more of a kitten."

Kurt actually laughed at that. It was a soft, scratchy sound that seemed ill-used but no less lovely.

They wound up talking like this for hours. They discovered a mutual love for musical theater (Blaine had predicted that about Kurt), which seemed to surprise Kurt, as he said he'd always taken Blaine to be a "top-forties bands only" kinda guy. Kurt didn't scoff Blaine's love of Disney, rather he admitted bashfully that his favorite princess was Belle (Blaine's would always be Mulan). They talked music (Kurt was very interested to learn the Blaine played guitar and violin), celebrity crushes (Blaine was infatuated with Ewan McGregor, while Kurt preferred Daniel Radcliffe), and even went so far as to reveal secrets from their personal lives (Blaine was very surprised to learn that a dead mother was another thing he and Kurt had in common).

They didn't stop talking until midnight, when Kurt fell asleep on the phone with a final, whispered "Thank you, Blaine."

"You're very welcome, Kurt," Blaine whispered back, not positive that Kurt heard him.

He hung up, tossed the phone on his night stand, and threw himself down on the bed. He wanted to erase the entire conversation from his memory and he wanted to remember every detail. He wanted to see Kurt every day and he wanted to never hear from him again. He wanted answers and he wanted to believe that there were none. In short, he had no idea what he wanted.

Well, that wasn't completely true. He knew about one thing he wanted: he wanted to know why he was so concerned with Kurt.

_You used to be able to leave them behind. You used to be able to look at the beaten and tell yourself that they didn't need you; that they'd get better help from somebody else. Why is Kurt so special?_

_ Because Kurt has nobody else,_ he answered himself.

_What about his friends? _he wondered, _he mentioned a couple of his glee club friends when you were talking. I bet they would be of more help than you._

_ I don't know_, he answered himself again, _I don't know where his friends are, but clearly he doesn't think they can help. I'm his only help right now._

With that thought, Blaine realized why he couldn't just leave Kurt to suffer. It was his hero complex. Before the Parasite, it was his sole motivation for everything he did. He always had to be the one to talk to the weird kid with no friends, or try to stop bullying. He had a pathological need to help people. And, without a doubt, when he sees someone in almost the same exact situation as he had been in two years ago he was going to leap to their rescue. _It's nothing, _he told himself confidently, _I'm just trying to be Superman again. It's nothing. _The epiphany had him almost crying with relief as he lay down to sleep.

Of course, Blaine hadn't considered what it was about Kurt that reawakened his hero complex. He simply jumped to the safest conclusion and closed the case. It had served him well in the past, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

The hallways of McKinley were dark and ominous as Kurt made his way to his French classroom. He didn't know why he had returned. But he didn't question it either. He briefly wondered, however, why no one had bothered to turn on the lights today.

Kurt reached instinctively for his flashlight as he saw something move in the shadows ahead but found that his bag was not in its usual place at his side. He couldn't recall picking it up that morning. He couldn't recall anything from that morning, now that he considered it. He attributed to this failure in his usually excellent memory to his apprehension at returning to school. He had a brief panic attack about his assignments, which were all tucked away in his bag, then decided to let it go; in any case, his teachers will excuse it once they find out about the horrible tragedy of Sam's heterosexuality. He steeled his nerves and stepped into his French classroom.

Inside was the most peculiar assortment of students he had ever seen. First and foremost was Mr. Schue, who was taking notes on a couple words that were written on the board (which were in Spanish, for some reason). Behind him was Finn Hudson, occupying himself by yelling at a football game that was displayed on a flat screen T.V. at the back of the classroom and throwing Rachel at the screen (who, in turn, crawled back on his desk and prepared to be used as a projectile again). Then, there was Brittany, who was speaking fluently in impeccable French (then German, then Canadian) to Britney Spears, who responded in kind.

Kurt's only reaction was to silently commend Brittany on her accomplishment in language, marvel at how she managed to find a teacher who taught the dead language of Canada, and look for a place to sit.

He took a seat next to Mr. Schue, who promptly turned to him and asked his opinion on an idea for sectionals.

"It's about time we did a tribute to Little Richard. What do you think of having Rachel sing Tutti Frutti?"

"It sounds fantastic!" Kurt said with genuine excitement. "But I think we should try-"

Mr. Schue was grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the blackboard (Kurt whined internally about getting chalk on his new Marc Jacobs). His eyes were pitch black as he leaned dangerously close to Kurt's ear and growled "Don't mess with my set list, Hummel."

When he pulled back, it was no longer Mr. Schue, it was Karofsky.

Kurt shrieked in terror as he was tossed out the door into the boys locker room (which was actually on the other side of the school, but that didn't concern Kurt at the moment). He slammed against the lockers with bone-cracking force and struggled to get up. But his legs had turned to jelly. Then ice. Then jelly again. The constant flip-flopping between states of matter had his legs burning and aching in a matter of seconds.

What did not happen in a matter of seconds was Karofsky's reentry. Kurt looked around cautiously for about thirty seconds before resolving to defend himself, rather resigning to helplessness. So he got up and ran. That was his big defense. He ran.

He launched himself out of the locker room and found himself on the grand staircase of Dalton Academy. He didn't think twice. He didn't stop to admire at his sudden proficient ability at teleportation. His only thought was to keep moving. And move he did; he moved faster than he had ever moved in his life.

His, burning, aching legs had succeeded in carrying him to the room where he'd first seen Blaine sing Teenage Dream when he stopped dead. There was a boy with slick black hair and a navy blue blazer standing at one of the windows.

Kurt slammed the door shut behind him and ran to Blaine, intending to tell him to run. But he overestimated the distance and almost went straight through the window (which led to a cliff that dropped off into the ocean).

Suddenly, Blaine turned and caught him by the arms as his body arched toward the glass window, locking Kurt's wrists in front of him in an iron grip. He turned Kurt to face him and gazed intently into his eyes. There was something wrong, though . . . Blaine's hazel irises were gone, filled instead with black. But Kurt didn't scream. He wasn't afraid. He could still see the whites of Blaine's eyes, and, although any other time Kurt would have counted it as "close enough," he didn't care. He simply stared into those eyes and wished they were hazel again because it was a much prettier color.

As if on his whim, they flashed back to hazel.

And Kurt forgot what he was supposed to tell Blaine. He forgot about running and being chased. He forgot his own name as he watched those eyes watching him.

"Please be real." The words fell from Kurt's lips before he knew what he was saying. He didn't know what he meant by that, but he knew that he had never wished for anything so desperately.

Blaine smiled faintly as he whispered (_oh so_ sweetly), "courage," and leaned in slowly.

Kurt felt a leap of excitement as he mirrored the movement, closing his eyes as he did so and withdrawing his wrists from Blaine's now gentle grasp to lace their fingers together.

He had barely begun to feel Blaine's hot breath tickle his lips when the warmth disappeared from between his fingers. He felt instead two chunks of warm, raw meat were being pressed to his face. He barely had time to wonder why Blaine had thrown meat at him before there was a pair of chapped lips (lips that most definitely weren't Blaine's) smashing against his own. _Karofsky_.

This time, there was no pulling back. He seemed determined to attach himself permanently to Kurt's face.

But Kurt didn't take it this time. He fought. He scratched and punched and kicked. But it wasn't enough; he couldn't get it off. It just kept _taking._

"_Kurt!_" someone was shouting from a distance.

_I can't answer you! _Kurt responded in his mind, _I'm busy. I have to fight a soul sucking Demon. Sorry I forgot to tell you that I was occupied today. Maybe I can answer you tomorrow. If I don't win, my assistant will forward you to my business partner, Leonardo DiCaprio. Thank you, have a nice day._

_What was that? Where is sense?_ Kurt tried to shake his head to clear the nonsense, but the creature prevented it.

_No, no, please, _he screamed in his head, _please let me go, please! Give me Blaine! Where's Blaine? Why did you take him from me? Why can't I have him? Why do you take _everything_? _Tears were streaming down his face. He felt as though the ground had vanished beneath his feet. His mind was in free-fall, slowly descending to insanity.

There was a lurch in his middle and he realized they _were_ falling. They were twisting through the air, plummeting toward the sharp rocks and the deep black sea.

"I _will_ have you," the Demon said in a feral snarl against his lips, pulling him closer.

Kurt's stomach was somewhere in his shoes, his mind divided inside the frozen sky and the boiling sea, his heart like a rock in his chest. He couldn't take it anymore. He had nothing else to give. The Demon had hollowed him out completely, but it was still scraping his shell for the fragments.

He wished they would fall faster. He wished it could be over. He wished to die. To feel the life leave him sounded like the most absolutely beautiful release.

_But wait... is death beautiful?_ Life may have lost much of its beauty for him, but who could say that death would be any different?

What did it mean to be dead anyways? He would be alone... but alone was safe right? At least, that's what he had told Blaine earlier. There was one thing about alone he could not stand, and that was the absence of _all _human contact... including that of his father.

"_Kurt__!"_ the distant voice called again.

Kurt opened his eyes and, in a last ditch effort to escape, reached out into the open air with a hand that had until that moment been attempting to scratch the demons eyes out. To his great surprise, he found a gentle, callused hand connecting with his. A moment later, the Demon was pried from his body and thrown out to sea. Kurt looked down just in time to see a hobbit-like figure with shiny dark hair plummeting to Earth; wrapped around him was a tall skinny man with mousy brown hair. He had time to call out Blaine's name but once before the voice called his name again, pulling his attention to the person clutching his hand.

He was met with the vision of his father's angelic form, and with this apparition he realized that he was no longer falling. He seemed to be frozen somewhere, suspended in what he could only assume was the boiling black sea that had been so thirsty for his blood only moments previously... But his father was with him, holding tightly to his hand, so it couldn't be the dark sea.

"You okay, Kurt?" His father was scrutinizing his face with intense concern. So it wasn't an apparition.

_Am I... okay? _It took a few moments for Kurt to process what his father was saying, as his brain was still trapped in the sensation of falling. _No, _he thought slowly, _not falling. Not drowning either. In bed. Safe? Yes. Dad's here. I'm here. Blaine-_

"_Blaine!_" Kurt called abruptly, sitting bolt upright.

"Whoa, Kurt, it's alright," Burt said gently, moving to soothe Kurt with a soft pat on the back. "You just had a... a bad dream..."

"Bad dream," Kurt repeated. _It was just a dream, _he told himself, _just a dream._ But why had it felt so real? How could he still feel Karofsky's chapped lips pressing into his? Why could he still feel his cheeks being suffocated by those horrible, heavy, clammy hands?

_Because that part wasn't a dream_, he reminded himself bitterly.

"Who's Blaine?" his father startled him out of his reverie.

_He's this boy whom I've only just met, but may already be falling in love with. I haven't done any digging to find out who he is, but I told him that I my very first kiss with a boy was stolen by a bully. Which I should have told you because you're my father and I tell you everything. Also that bully was a Demon and threatened to kill me. But I didn't tell Blaine that part. Got all that, Dad? What? You couldn't hear me through a second heart attack? Okay, tell Mom I said hi. _Kurt felt his stomach twist in fear. His father could never know.

"He's nobody, Dad," Kurt answered groggily. "I watched _Pretty in Pink_ before I went to bed."

Based on his father's expression, Kurt could tell that he didn't believe a word of it. He wondered just how loudly he had been shouting in his sleep. He held his breath and waited for his father to insist he tell the truth.

Instead, Burt murmured "Okay. When you're ready to talk, you'll talk." He continued to examine Kurt intently as though he could discern all of his secrets through minor changes in expression. "How about I make you some warm milk and toast?"

Kurt smiled blearily, "Thanks, Dad."

As his father left, Kurt leaned over and grabbed his copy of _Patti LuPone: A Memoir_. Tired as he was he knew he probably wouldn't be able to get anymore sleep tonight. As he thought this, an image of Karofsky's pitch black eyes diving for his face replaced Patti LuPone's winning smile. No, he definitely wouldn't be able to sleep more tonight. He glanced at the clock and groaned. 3:30 a.m. Only hours ago, he and Blaine had been discussing Broadway and music and... their mothers. He recalled the brief discussion with a mixture of fondness and melancholy.

_"It's just my dad and I, now," Kurt was saying casually, but somehow heavily,_ _"Well, he has a girlfriend and she has a son, but they're not... family... yet. But I think my dad will be popping the question any day now"_

_ "Is that okay with you?" Blaine had asked concernedly,_ _"I mean your mom is she... still in the picture at all, or...?" He had trailed off at that point. Kurt wondered privately if Blaine hesitated out of insecurity. _Maybe he thinks he's being nosy, _Kurt had thought._

_ "She died," Kurt had told him bluntly, more to assuage Blaine's fears (or rather, the fears Kurt had imagined him having) than anything_, _"when I was eight. It was... it was an accident."_

_ Blaine was silent for a long time after that and Kurt wondered if he had said too much, or made Blaine uncomfortable with his honesty._

_It was neither._

_ "My mom... she died about two years ago," Blaine had confessed. "When I was fourteen."_

_ "Oh, Blaine I..." but Kurt knew there was nothing he could say. Only two years since Blaine lost his mother; that that was hardly any time at all. He didn't want to say he was sorry; it was so typical and predictable and Kurt had always hated it when people said that to him – they had nothing to be apologize for and sorry didn't change anything. There was one thing though... one deeply comforting thought that never failed to make him feel better, even if it was only slightly. "I... Just remember that... no matter how hopeless it seems... when it hurts it just means that... that they're still there, somehow. I can't explain it, really... but it's like you feel them." Kurt winced at the cheesiness of his advice. But it was what kept him sane, and he was only telling Blaine in the hopes that it would help with the pain. A pain that Kurt was all too familiar with._

_ There was another silence. Again, Kurt had worried that his words had been too much, or too little, or just nonsensical._

_ "That's... that's perfect Kurt. Thank you," Blaine whispered softly, and Kurt knew he meant it._

Kurt smiled at the memory of Blaine's sweet sincerity and lost himself in thoughts of Blaine for a while, allowing himself to drift back to his dream...

_Gorgeous hazel eyes were gazing reverently into his blue ones; soft lips just itching to lift Karofsky's curse were inching slowly closer to his; perfectly styled hair was just begging to be mussed by Kurt's wandering fingers. He could just feel the hot breath ghosting over his lips, when-_

_No, _Kurt said to the sudden invasion of Karofsky. _I will keep this._

_ Kurt sealed his lips to Blaine's. Glorious, full, soft lips that felt nothing like Karofsky's. Lips that filled his delicately, affectionately. Lips that-_

His father returned just then, holding a small plate of toast and a glass of steaming milk. There was still concern on his face as he entered, but something about Kurt's expression seemed to calm him slightly.

"Here you go, kid," he said warmly, but Kurt didn't miss the edge of worry in his voice.

"Dad, I'm fine," Kurt reassured, "it was just a nightmare. It's nothing we haven't seen before." Kurt took a large bite of the toast; it was perfect, as always. In the years since his mother died, Kurt had taken over most of the cooking, but Burt made it his mission to master the simpler meals – the result being delicious toast and a delectable Caesar salad.

Burt shook his head. "Not like this. I could hear you screaming all the way from living room. It sounded like... like you were being tortured."

His father was trembling. Kurt silently cursed his subconscious for causing him so much strain. He gripped his dad's shaking hand in his own.

"It was just about those three Demons I told you about. You know, the ones that got taken away by the DDD this week? It's not anything you need to worry about. I promise." That wasn't technically a lie. His dream had been about Demons.

"Was that it?" Burt asked somewhat suspiciously.

Kurt sighed internally. Sometimes his dad was far too perceptive for his own good. "Yeah, that was all."

"They can't hurt you now Kurt," Burt consoled him, "They won't get out of there. You're safe." He laid his hand on Kurt's shoulder gently with a small, confident smile

_So much for perceptive, _Kurt thought. He regretted it instantly. It wasn't his father's fault that he refused to say anything about Karofsky. What could he do about it, anyways? _He would do anything, _Kurt answered himself. _He would probably try to lock me away forever. Or worse, he could try to go after Karofsky._ He shuddered at the thought.

"Yeah, but they are always... always around, aren't they?" The silence that followed weighed so heavily on Kurt's ears that he felt it was deafening him. _Why did I say that? It's not like either of us need to be reminded-_

"If I could, I would, Kurt," Burt said abruptly. Kurt's eyes snapped up at the comment to find his father was looking at him with a mixture of regret and despair.

Kurt's heart seemed to drop into his stomach at the sight. Why did they have to cause all this pain? Why couldn't they just leave them alone? Couldn't they see that his poor father had suffered enough already?

"I know, Dad," Kurt replied, straining to keep his voice from cracking. He squeezed Burt's hand where it was still resting on his shoulder.

His father smiled sadly as if to say_ at least we got each other. _It was so achingly familiar to Kurt that he couldn't stop a tear from rolling down his cheek.

"I love you, Dad." Kurt had been saying that all too often since his father's heart attack, but he couldn't help it. He was so terrified of losing his father – his only family – that he constantly kept reminding him of why he should stay.

"I love you , too, Kurt," Burt replied, leaning down to kiss Kurt's forehead gently. And suddenly, Kurt was eight years old again: curled up in his Power Rangers sheets right after his mother died, holding desperately to the very last person he had left in the world, and hoping, with all of his heart, that he wouldn't lose this, too.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun rises to find Kurt sitting up in bed, clutching his knees to his chest and shivering. Every single time he had tried to shut his eyes that night his mind had been filled with the image of Karofsky devouring his face. If he dozed for too long, black eyes blinked out at him from the shadows, surveying him like a fresh piece of meat. On the one occasion that he had actually fallen asleep, he found himself assaulted with sensations of chapped lips latching onto his own.

His body didn't even feel like it belonged to him anymore; it was something dirty and polluted that someone had tossed carelessly on the side of the road. _Repulsive, unwanted, and weak_, a small, malicious voice whispered. He jumped and glanced around frightfully, searching for the source of the voice. But his room was full of sunlight, undisturbed by shadows or darkness. It was with a shock that he realized the voice had come from his own mind.

Kurt didn't do self-loathing. That's for people who aren't as talented or fabulous as he is. Yet, even as he thought this, he gave a derisive snort and thought _talented? A talented person wouldn't let that happen to them. _But he was talented and that did happen to him._ No. I _was _talented. What am I now? I'm nothing. _

_ That's not me . . ._ Kurt Hummel knew he was gifted and fabulous. Kurt Hummel was confident and cautious. Whatever was left of him, that was not Kurt Hummel. Somewhere in that locker room, Kurt Hummel had died. All he left in his place was less than an empty shell; a tainted, defiled prison.

He cradled his head in his hands as the tears pooled in his eyes. He was trapped. Trapped like an animal in his own body. He imagined throwing himself against the glass that imprisoned him, screaming profanities and crying out for liberation. No one came to help him. Instead, people gathered round to gawk at him as though he were an animal on display at the zoo.

"What do you want?" he screeched at them at he beat his fists on the pane. Some onlookers whispered disapprovingly behind their hands and shook their heads. Some were openly hostile, leering at him and cracking their knuckles. Others were laughing at his efforts, mimicking his frantic struggle with the unyielding glass. All had pitch black eyes. "Go away! I don't want – help me please. Get me out – don't look at me! Leave me alone! I'm not – please – I'm not just . . . I like boys. Is that really so wrong?" Throughout his outburst, Kurt's voice slowly dwindled until it was barely more than a whisper. _Is that really so wrong?_All of those people were looking at him as though he was getting exactly what he deserved . . . like they believed he had this coming because he liked boys instead of girls. And for the first time, Kurt thought they might be right.

Kurt's eyes snapped open suddenly and he found himself in his bed, door wide open, and not a shadow in sight. He clenched his knees tighter to his chest and sat up straighter. He had dozed off again. He needed to stop doing that. He glanced at the clock, wondering if it was too early to go downstairs and get coffee. Seven o'clock. His dad was probably still asleep, but maybe if Kurt was quiet enough he wouldn't wake him.

Kurt tiptoed down to the living room and peeked in. His father was still fast asleep on the couch. He smiled to himself and decided to make his dad some egg whites and toast while he was in the kitchen.

Kurt was halfway through the second egg and three-quarters of the way through his first cup of coffee when he heard Burt pad into the kitchen behind him.

"Morning, Kurt," he yawned as he reached for the coffee pot.

"Ah, ah," Kurt scolded as he swatted his father's hand away gently, "no coffee. You remember what the doctor said. There's a cup of herbal tea on the table if you want it."

Burt grunted and picked up the cup grudgingly. After taking a sip, he looked up at Kurt quizzically. "Sugar?"

Kurt smiled and handed him his plate, "honey."

"Is that on the approved foods list?" Burt asked jokingly.

"Not technically," Kurt went to pour himself a second cup of coffee, "but it's not on the 'food to avoid' list either." He sat at the table across from his father and took a drink of his coffee.

"You're not eating?" Burt queried concernedly.

"I'm not hungry right now," Kurt answered lightly, "I'll have something later." His dad gave him a look and Kurt felt the need to add "I promise."

Burt nodded and started shoveling food into his mouth. He had been on a strict diet since his heart attack and complained of perpetual hunger as a result. Kurt gave him as much as he could, but he knew his father wouldn't be satisfied until he could go back to his former diet, which consisted primarily of grease and fat; if Kurt had anything to say about it – and he had very much to say about it – that would be never.

"So what are your plans for the day?" Burt asked between mouthfuls. "Are you still going to the movies with your friends?"

"It was just going to be Mercedes and I, but she canceled. Something about a family get together." _Thanks for reminding me to cancel, Dad,_ Kurt added mentally.

"So what, then?" Burt quizzed, "Just gonna sit around here and do nothing? What about Tina? Or Rachel? Are they doing anything?"

Kurt was taken aback by his father's persistence. Usually, Kurt couldn't even step out the door without hearing an endless stream of warnings and words of caution; now, his dad was practically shoving him out into the world he was always so careful about.

"Both have plans," Kurt replied, "well, Tina has plans. I just don't feel like dealing with Rachel today." Kurt paused and eyed his father suspiciously. "Why are you so eager to get me out of the house anyhow? Is Carole coming over? Because if she is, I can make myself scarce. I'll go see a movie at the revival theater, or there's a sale at H&M." Kurt didn't really want to do any of those things. All he wanted to do was curl up in his sheets, watch every musical in his extensive collection and forget about having life.

"No, she's with Finn in Columbus. Something about a football tournament," Burt said, "No, I just, I wanted you to have some fun. You've been hangin' around here, taking care of me for a few weeks now. And since I'm feelin' a lot better, I thought it might be nice for you to go out."

Kurt smiled warmly at this, although he still suspected and ulterior motive. "I appreciate your concern, Dad, but I think I'll stay in today. Just in case you aren't as well as you think."

"Alright, kid," Burt relented.

Kurt got up, put his coffee cup in the sink, and kissed his dad on the top of his bald head as he exited the kitchen.

Kurt was halfway through the third musical in his marathon when he got a text.

(11:45 am)

_From: Blaine_

_Lunch tomorrow? I buy, you pick?_

Before he could reply with an overzealous YES! his phone buzzed again.

(11:46 am)

_From: Blaine_

_I would say today but I'm stuck at rehearsal all day._

Kurt felt a wave of warm affection spread from his scalp to his toes. Blaine wanted to hang out with him. Blaine wanted to hang out with him as soon as possible. Blaine wanted to hang out with him as soon as possible _and_ buy him lunch.

Kurt was just marveling at how two simple text messages could turn his entire day around, when he realized he'd forgotten to reply.

(11:50 am)

_To: Blaine_

_ Sounds great! Are you sure you want to drive all the way out to Lima, though? I could come out to Westerville._

Kurt had a small panic attack after he sent the text. _I probably wasn't supposed to try to contradict his plans. He probably regrets asking me and thinks I'm controlling and-_

He swallowed his nerves as his phone buzzed and read Blaine's response.

(11:52 am)

_From: Blaine_

_ No, you've already been out here. It's only fair that I drive out to see you this time. You can show me all the hottest spots in Lima;)_

Kurt's heart leaped into his throat at the sight of the small emoticon. How can a colon and a right parenthesis have such an effect on him?

(11:56 am)

_To: Blaine_

_ Breadstix, 1:00pm?_

(11:58 am)

_From: Blaine_

_ See you then:)_

Kurt bit his lip. He felt as though he were full of helium, but he also felt like he was being weighed down by something . . . A small bell was ringing somewhere in the back of his mind. But it was so dim that Kurt couldn't discern the exact kind of bell. He knew his instincts were trying to tell him something . . . After a few minutes of concentration, he wrote it off as anxiety for telling his dad the truth about Blaine – something Kurt would have to do if he agreed to go to lunch with him. He was all the more nervous when he remembered the outright lie he had told his father last night.

(12:03 pm)

_To: Blaine_

_ Looking forward to it._

"Kurt?" his father called from the kitchen a few hours later, "can you come down here for a sec? I have dinner."

Kurt sat up, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head to clear his static-filled brain.

"Mmph," he complained, pressing his fingers to his temples. Maybe an all-day musical marathon wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. But it did help him forget his troubles; if only because staring at a bright screen for ten hours straight had pulverized his brain cells.

_I wonder if this is what being hung over feels like,_ Kurt thought as he stumbled downstairs. He sniffed suspiciously at the air as he entered the kitchen, looking around for signs of charred food or an oven fire. But it appeared he had nothing to worry about: Burt was sitting across from a club sandwich and Caesar salad.

"What's going on?" Kurt walked slowly to the table and held out his hand for Burt's plate.

Burt rolled his eyes and handed it to Kurt. His father had made himself a meal only twice since his heart attack, and Kurt had insisted on inspecting it both times.

"Did you walk today?" Kurt asked as he returned his dad's salad with a nod of approval.

"Fifteen minutes, just like the doctor said," Burt replied, doing his own inspection on Kurt's demeanor. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Fine," Kurt took a bite of the sandwich, "why?"

"Well," Burt raised his eyebrows, "You've been in your room watching T.V. all day. And I know you never ate like you promised you would."

"I didn't break my promise," Kurt assured quickly, "It's later and I'm eating." Kurt shoved a large forkful of salad in his mouth to prove his point.

"And," Burt continued as though Kurt hadn't spoken, "there was that nightmare you had last night. Now, I didn't want to ask you too much about it then, but I want you to tell me the whole story, all right?"

"There's nothing to tell," Kurt's eyes were fixed on his salad as he said this. He had never been very good at lying to his father. "It was just a nightmare. I used to have one almost every night when I was a kid."

"That was after your mom died," Burt reminded him, "it hasn't happened for a few years now and these things don't just happen for no reason. They're caused by something." Kurt met his father's gaze as he registered the worry in his voice. Burt was watching him apprehensively, a silent, aching pain in his eyes.

Kurt's stomach twisted in guilt at the sight, but he knew that if he told his father anything it would only worsen the situation. "I told you already, it was those three demons from last week. It was just . . . a little much for one day."

Burt shook his head slowly. "Why are you lying to me, Kurt?"

"I'm not lying to you," Kurt objected emphatically, "It was worse this time. My pre-calculus teacher was one of them and I've been in the same room alone with her on several occasions. It made me think of what could have happened if I hadn't called quick enough."

Burt considered this for a moment. Kurt knew that he wanted to believe it, and he hoped that he would.

"What about Blaine?" Kurt felt his stomach drop and opened his mouth to reiterate his lie from the night before, "And don't you even try to tell me that bull again. I know you wouldn't look like . . . that over some character in a movie."

Burt's intensity shocked Kurt. _Are we . . . fighting? _No, that couldn't be. Kurt never fought with his father. The closest they had come to fighting was last year when Burt had tried to bond with Finn, causing Kurt to feel left out and betrayed. After talking about it thoroughly, they attributed it to a failure in communication and vowed to discuss their relationship more often.

"Looked like what? Like I was terrified? That tends to be a side effect of nightmares, Dad." Only minutes ago, Kurt had every intention of telling his father about Blaine, but now he felt the need to make this as difficult for his father as his father was making it for him.

"That's not what it was," Burt was studying Kurt like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "It was like . . . I don't know. I just . . . I know that, whoever this Blaine kid is, you care about him."

"Of course I care about him," Kurt fired back, "he's dreamy . . . but, tragically, he's dating Molly Ringwald. That will give anyone nightmares."

His father rubbed his face in frustration."What happened to telling me everything? That's what we do here. We _don't_ keep things from each other. I may not be a perfect dad, but I've never kept secrets from you, Kurt."

Kurt's face burned with guilt at his father's disappointment. An image of his father lying unconscious in a hospital bed, hooked up to an innumerable amount of wires flashed across his mind, reinforcing his feelings of disgrace.

"Blaine is this boy that I met when I infiltrated Dalton Academy on Thursday," Kurt confessed shamefully. "We've been talking and texting for a few days, and I'm going to lunch with him tomorrow."

It was a few moments before Burt responded. He seemed taken aback by Kurt's sudden honesty. "Do you know anything about him?" Burt asked, skirting the obvious question.

"He's the lead for the Dalton Academy Warblers, he's gay, he sings Katy Perry quite well, and he as impeccable taste in . . . everything." Kurt ticked off the irrelevant facts about Blaine to force his father into asking him the only thing he cared to know.

"Gay, really?" Burt repeated. Kurt almost laughed at how shocked and impressed his father appeared. "But . . . do you know if he's . . ."

"No, Dad," Kurt sighed, "I'll have to get to know him better before I can figure out his taken status."

"Then maybe it's not such a good idea for you to go to Dalton," Burt mumbled, mostly to himself.

"What?" Kurt asked incredulously. "Since when am I going to Dalton?"

Burt shifted uncomfortably. "Well, after you told me about the three Demons, I started looking into private schools in the area. Since you mentioned that you'd be going against Dalton at sectionals, I decided to start there, so that you wouldn't have to give up singing. I called on Friday and they explained the Warblers, and the curriculum and the zero-tolerance harassment policy. And that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about tonight, Kurt. I think Dalton might be the place for you. At least I thought that, until this Blaine guy, now-"

"Wait," Kurt interrupted exasperatedly, "let me get this straight. You wanted me to go to private school because of a few Demons but now you think it's not a good idea because I already made a friend at said private school – which would only make my transition easier, by the way – and you think he might be a Demon. . . That doesn't really make any sense."

"All I'm saying is that I don't want you to get in too deep with this boy before you know who he is." Burt paused to allow that to sink in. "And it's not just the Demons, Kurt. I'd have to lock you away forever if I wanted to keep you from those. When you told me about them the other day, it reminded me that Demons aren't the only thing out there that can hurt you. I know about the bullying, Kurt. I see it every day when you come home from school; you look like the world tried to beat the individuality out of you. And you deserve better. You deserve everything."

Kurt felt his shame burn deeper, spreading from his face to pool in his throat. _Is there an award for World's Most Selfish/Ungrateful Son? If there is then I should forget about Oscars and go for it. I'd be a shoe-in._ In an effort to redeem himself, Kurt clasped his father's hand in his own and offered some reassurance.

"I know, Dad," Kurt said thickly, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. "And I appreciate it, I do, but," Kurt couldn't resist pointing out this flaw in his father's logic, "how will we afford it?"

"I got some money saved up," Burt replied, not quite meeting Kurt's eye, "I was gonna use it on your college, but I figure with your grades and a diploma from this Dalton place, they'll be throwing the money atcha to get you there."

Kurt preened a bit at the compliment before before catching his father's eye and narrowing his own distrustfully.

"Dad," he began slowly, "what were you really saving the money for?"

The change in Burt's expression was so infinitesimal that anyone else would have missed it; but not Kurt.

_I think my dad will be popping the question any day now._

"It's for Carole, isn't it?" Now he change in Burt's expression was painfully obvious, "Dad, no, you can't spend that money on me. I can do independent study; it's free if you do it through the school, and-"

"I told you, I don't wanna lock you away," although the ache in his eyes said the opposite was true. "You gotta experience the world Kurt, and yeah, sometimes that means dealing with ignorant people, but I want you to know that that isn't all there is; it's not all Demons and bullies. There are good people. People who are strong and compassionate and pure. People like you. You're not alone Kurt. I want you to understand that."

"But Carole-" Kurt began.

"Carole gets it. She loves you, too, you know. And she wants you to be safe just as much as I do. Besides, we don't need a ring or a fancy ceremony or a piece of paper to prove that we love each other. And if we traded your safety for something like that, well, it would just prove that we don't know how love works."

Kurt smiled and allowed a few tears to fall. He felt joy and relief wash away the shame, cleansing him of his demons (figuratively) at the same time. It was moments like these that reminded Kurt of how lucky he was to have Burt. And how close he had come to losing him.

"Okay," Kurt said compliantly, "what did they tell you about Dalton?"


	6. Chapter 6

_ Thwack!_ Kurt's former pre-calculus book tumbled out of his arms defiantly, trying to prove that he couldn't balance more than four books. He jumped horribly at the sound, feeling a white hot wave of fear wash from his scalp to his toes, and stooped quickly to pick it up, causing the rest of his books to leap from his shaky grasp. Kurt sighed and mentally scolded himself for not accepting his father's help in carrying his books to the library as he piled the books in a neat stack on the floor.

Burt was in the administrative office, signing the papers that were necessary for Kurt's transfer.

Transfer . . . the word sounded weak. It sounded synonymous to surrender, although both his father and Blaine had impressed upon him many times that he wasn't surrendering; he was retreating.

_Transferring isn't giving up, Kurt, _his father had said when Kurt confessed his distaste for his decision, _it's finding something better. That takes guts, kid._

_ You're protecting yourself, Kurt, _Blaine had comforted, _you're refusing to let that bully torture you. And you're leaving your friends behind to do it. You're not being a coward. You're the bravest man I know._

Kurt smiled as he recalled the conversations; both men had done their utmost to make Kurt comfortable with the idea of leaving McKinley. Blaine had given him a personal tour of Dalton after school the previous day while Kurt's father had a meeting with the dean. Burt had ascertained that Kurt would have the electives he wanted, while Blaine introduced Kurt to the Warblers and guaranteed Kurt a spot on the "team". Their primary objective was for Kurt to be safe, but it was clear that neither would be satisfied until he was happy as well.

But still . . . Kurt couldn't help but feel a pit of regret in his stomach as he stared at the remnants of his locker. It was surprisingly barren without his books, but his personal affects gave it a crowded feeling; almost like they were wallpapering his empty locker in much the same way his memories wallpapered the emptiness he felt inside . . . but maybe they did fill him in a way. Maybe leaving them would only prolong the emptiness, rather than assuaging it.

_ Leaving is the only way,_ Kurt told himself for what may have been the thousandth time. There wasn't much Kurt would miss about the school, but what he would miss filled his chest with a dull ache. He would miss the glee club scandals. He would miss Mr. Schue's crazy assignments. He would even miss Rachel's weekly tantrums. He would miss everyone in glee club, including Puckerman (to some extent). But the next time he saw any of them, they would be little more than competition to him.

_Leaving is the only way,_ he repeated, digging out the last little mementos from his nearly-empty locker.

Kurt smiled fondly at the pictures of various glee club members as he removed them from the back of his locker.

_When was this? . . . was that the car wash? Oh, god, that was such a disaster. And we used all that money to pay a hobbit to point out our flaws. . . Mercedes and I in our regionals costumes. Damn, we looked hot. Rocky Horror. It's really a shame it was canceled. Mercedes would have brought the house down . . . with my help, of course. And this was right after Beth was born . . . She was so beautiful. I hope she's happy with Ms. Corcoran. Now this one . . . I forgot about this. _The photo featured all of them in the auditorium. Mr. Schue had taken the picture as they belted out the last note of . . . _What song had it been? . . . _You Get What You Give. _I still think it's a terrible song . . . But Finn was right, it was a blast to sing. _The occasion was unremarkable; they had been rehearsing for regionals right after they had pulled a set list out of their asses at sectionals. It was really much of the same: Quinn was still pregnant, Finn was still heart broken, Rachel was still under suspicion of possible defection, and they were all still losers. Some of them even had slushy stains on their clothes. But they looked like they had just won the lottery. Even Quinn, who had just lost her boyfriend and been labeled a "whore" by the entire school, was smiling as she sang with her arm slung around Brittany's shoulders.They were flushed, sweaty, and every one of them had their mouths wide open, but Kurt thought they looked fantastic.

_Leaving is the only way._

Kurt sighed as he closed his now completely empty locker and crouched to pick up the large stack of text books.

He would have to walk a long way to get the library. He checked the time. 4:30. _They'll be practicing about now._ Kurt bit his lip. He couldn't face them. He wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want to see their reactions when he told them he was running away, or because he was trying to spite them. But it didn't matter much now, as they would most likely see him and force him to tell them what is going on. He silently cursed Figgins for keeping him so long in the meeting. _All I did was sit there and listen to him prattle on about "losing a model student" and "I'm sorry that you feel our school is no longer doing enough for you." Asshole. He doesn't give a damn about me. If he did he would have tried to do something about – _Kurt swallowed and began his death march to the library.

As he whipped his head back and forth, keeping his eye out for stray students, Kurt recalled another conversation with Blaine from their lunch (date?) two days before.

_"I just . . . I don't know," Kurt was saying as he picked as his scone. "I just don't have the guts to face them . . . and I'm still pissed at about half of them."_

_ Blaine looked at him seriously over the rim of his coffee cup before placing it carefully on the table and answering slowly. "They're your friends, Kurt. Whether you realize it or not, they care about you. And even if some of them have been . . . less than friendly lately, they'll want to know. They would probably be really hurt if you just left them with no explanation."_

_ Kurt snorted. "Yeah, because they just _loved_ my company before. I'll probably be doing them a favor by leaving." He kept his eyes trained on his coffee cup and unwillingly remembered Puck's harsh words at one of their recent mash-up meetings: _What good are you, then? _It had been pushed to the back of his mind since Karofsky attacked him, but now they rang in his head like the world's worst catchy song. And each time the bounced around his skull they seemed to leave a small bruise._

_ "Hey," Blaine said softly, "they care about you. I know they do. I know from experience that people can be pretty thoughtless sometimes. The fact is . . . we're all going through our own stuff, and we all think that our problems come first. Just tell them. Give them a chance. They might surprise you." _

_ Kurt smiled appreciatively and said "I'll think about it."_

And he had thought about it; the more he thought about it, the more confused he became. As he walked down the hall, keeping his footsteps as silent as possible, he ran through the questions he had been pondering over the past two days.

_ What will they say? Will they be angry that I'm joining the competition? Will they think I'm betraying them? Even if I did try to explain it to them, would they listen? Will they ask me to stay? . . . Now that's wishful thinking, even for me. Why do I think they'll care at all? It's not their fault if I want to "run away and cry like a girl." No, I can't. I can't be let down again. Maybe I'll call Mercedes later and tell her not to expect me in Home Ec. Maybe Tina, too. They'll tell everybody else . . . Well, now I'm definitely a coward._

After careful consideration he decided to text Mercedes and Tina. Maybe later in the week they would have one of their girls'-nights-plus-Kurt and Kurt would tell them a slightly altered version of why he had to leave; because of course he would leave out the part about Karofsky being a Demon . . . and Karofsky kissing him . . . and his whole confrontation with Karofsky. _Maybe I'll just leave out Karofsky altogether. I'll tell them it was just Azimio . . . No, that would give them cause for suspicion . . . then maybe I'll say that the bullying just got to be too much . . . But if I do that they might say that they can protect me. Or they could say that they go through the same thing every day and to stop being a baby about it. Or they could-_

Kurt's train of thought was interrupted abruptly as the sound of tiny clicking heels echoed from somewhere down the hall. Kurt searched frantically for a place to hide, but the locked classrooms that surrounded him on all sides provided no shelter. The only thing in the hall that he could use as a shield was a water fountain. Kurt quickly jammed himself behind it and hoped the intruder hadn't seen him and that they wouldn't look to the left as they passed and that-

"Kurt?" the owner of the footsteps asked him.

_Rachel_, Kurt thought resentfully. "Yes?" he answered her condescendingly, as thought he hadn't just been caught attempting to play hide-and-seek with a random passerby.

"What, um . . . why are you hiding behind a water fountain?"

"I'm not hiding," Kurt snapped irritably as he wriggled his way out of the cramped space.

"Then what are you doing?" Rachel asked insistently, "and where have you been? Mercedes said you were sick, but you look perfectly fine to me. Is it your dad? Is he okay?"

"Yes, he's fine. A lot better, actually," Kurt checked his watch, wondering how long he would be subjected to-

"Well, then, if this is part of your plan to sabotage the boys' efforts in the mash-up competition you've succeeded, which is great for us, of course, but it also means that Coach Bieste probably won't come back to the school and our football team will be without a coach again. But it's all for the cause, right?"

"Rachel," Kurt tried to derail her endless chatter before she started in on-

"Especially since Finn will have much more time to focus on me now and all those girls won't be hanging all over him and-"

"_Rachel!_" Kurt half-shouted, glancing uneasily over his shoulder to make certain no one heard him. "I'm not here to gloat about ruining the boys' chances at winning the mash-up competition. I'm just getting a few things I missed while I was absent."

"You were only gone for two days, and you drove here after hours to pick up some homework? After all the teachers left?" Rachel narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You're trying to save them, aren't you? You know they haven't got a prayer with out you so you decided to swoop in and save the day. Well, good luck with that, and hopefully they'll accept your assistance better than they did mine." Kurt knew she wasn't going to stop until he was well informed on all of her current problems. He sighed heavily as she plowed on. "They didn't listen to a single thing I tried to tell them. Well, fine. If they want to lose their coach and the competition, that's their decision, but I refuse to mix with people who won't take heed of my creative genius."

Kurt waited a few moments for the tirade to continue before asking "Are you done?" Rachel took a deep breath and nodded sharply. "Good. Now, not that this little chat hasn't been riveting, but if you don't mind, I have some assignments to collect." He gathered his text books from the floor for the second time that day and stepped past her without another word, feeling some spiteful satisfaction at the slightly offended expression on her face.

_Serves her right,_ Kurt thought maliciously, _she didn't even notice. I doubt anyone else will either. So much for giving them a chance. Blaine may be a really nice guy, but he gives some pretty bad advice. It's a good thing he's pretty-_

"Kurt, wait!" Rachel called just before Kurt rounded the corner to make his escape.

"Look, Rachel," Kurt spat as he spun on his heel and bore down on her, "I'm really not in the mood to listen to your idiotic boyfriend troubles right now. I have things to take care of. I know you find it hard to believe that there's anything going on outside of that little Rachel world you live in, but, news flash! other people have lives, too. Now, please go back to confiding in your Barbara Streisand poster and leave me alone."

Rachel had never looked so small as she did at that moment, which is saying something considering how short she is. Actually, Kurt had never realized just how short she was until now; he assumed that was because he was always so distracted by her ginormous head. Her eyes filled with tears and she looked as though she was preparing to run away. Kurt felt guilt blossom in his stomach.

"Rachel, I-I'm sorry," Kurt said earnestly. "That was completely uncalled for. I know you mean well, but I'm just not . . . not feeling like myself lately."

Rachel lifted her chin slightly and, for a moment, Kurt thought she was going to slap him and storm away. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. Kurt froze, pushing down the instinctive response to shove her away and dust himself off. After the urge faded, he hesitantly encircled her small waist with the arm that was not straining to lift five text books. He had to admit, it wasn't awful. It was actually kind of nice to be hugged like that; like he was loved. She pulled away after a few moments, tears still sparkling in her eyes.

"I'm going to miss you, Kurt," Rachel said sincerely.

"I'm going to miss you, too," and he really would. "What gave it away?"

Rachel smiled knowingly through her tears. "You have all of your text books and you're heading in the direction of the library, so you must be going to turn them in because you won't need them anymore. The only reason they would allow that is if you were leaving. Or switching classes, but I don't think that's the case here. Also, Mercedes mentioned that you canceled on her this weekend, which I can only assume is your attempt to distance yourself from your friends so that they won't be so shocked when you're gone."

Kurt was momentarily speechless. Rachel deserved more credit than he gave her. "I don't want to leave. But I don't feel safe here anymore. I can't live in constant fear. And it has to be Dalton because they have a zero-tolerance harassment policy . . . it's the only way." Kurt tensed and waited for the rage. Surely Rachel of all people would be furious that he was deserting, particularly after all the crap he gave her about Jesse last year.

"Much as I loathe the idea one of our best performers getting grabbed up by the competition, if it will make you happy, I'll support it. And so will everyone else. You're going to say goodbye to them, right?" She took his free hand and started to lead him in the direction of the choir room.

Kurt pulled away sharply. "No, I . . . Maybe later. I have to return these books and the library closes in a half hour. And my dad should probably get home and lie down. He's been up and about way too much in the past few days and it's all my fault, so I've got to make sure he gets more rest." Kurt was backing away slowly as he babbled, hoping Rachel would accept these partial truths and go back to glee club.

She didn't.

"Kurt," Rachel said as she followed his progress down the hall, "were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?"

"What?" Kurt exclaimed with false incredulity, "no, no, of course not. I just don't have time right now, Rachel. Maybe tomorrow I'll stop by on my own and we'll have a-a going away party." He tried to stop the blood from rising to his face at the lie; the only way he would come back to this school ever again while Karofsky was still roaming the halls is if he were dragged there bound and gagged.

"You're a terrible liar, Kurt," Rachel stated sadly, glancing from Kurt to the floor and back again. "We're not perfect, and we're certainly not the world's greatest friends. I know that sometimes we don't notice when you're unhappy, but you can't punish us forever. We love you, Kurt, even if we don't always show it."

"Don't always show it?" Kurt repeated drily. "There are a lot of things you show me . . . Love is the least of my worries."

Rachel looked at him for a few moments before responding. "This is about Noah, isn't it?" she studied his reaction for confirmation. "He doesn't mean it. It's just his way of maintaining his bad boy persona."

Kurt snorted. "So he has to make me feel awful just so he can look cool? And that's supposed to be a valid excuse? Here's some advice: stick to singing and leave the defense to the attorneys."

"Okay, so you're angry at Noah, rightfully so, but is it really necessary to take it out on all of your friends? What have I done to deserve this kind of abandon? Or Mercedes? Or Tina? Or Finn? Or anyone else."

He thought about that for a moment. _What _have_ they done? _"Nothing. They haven't done anything," Kurt said stonily.

"Oh," Rachel breathed, "that's what it is. Kurt . . . people are so self-absorbed that you can't honestly expect them to notice everything outside of their personal issues, or anything really. And it just so happens that your friends are some of the biggest divas in the world; we don't see anything that's not our reflection and we don't hear anything that's not our own voice. As a fellow diva, I'm sure you can understand."

_Understand? Understand what it's like to not give a damn when your friend is suffering?_ _What the hell would I . . . _A memory of himself telling Mercedes to starve herself to preserve their positions on the Cheerios surfaced suddenly, then another of himself subverting Rachel's chances with Finn by dressing her in a horrible cat woman suit, followed by a third involving a problem with getting Artie to sectionals last year, which he had not cared to do anything about. _They are my friends . . . they trust me, which is much more than I can do for many of them. _Yes, these people were possible Demons, as well as friends, but if he expected these undetermined threats to pay attention to his troubles all the time, doesn't he owe them the same courtesy? He still kept his distance from most of them out of caution, yet they were the first people he had allowed himself to get close to in eight years . . . And they weren't dreadful; only a few weeks ago they were doing everything they could to help Kurt deal with his father's hospitalization.

Kurt bit his lip pensively. "You . . . maybe you're right. Everyone has done so much for me. Probably a lot more than I've done for any of them. It's just easier to be angry with them. Perhaps I will say a quick goodbye-"

Rachel plucked two books from the stack and strode off up the hall.

"_Rachel_," Kurt whispered hoarsely as he half-jogged behind her, "_Rachel!_ I can't just waltz in there and announce that I'm leaving. I don't have anything prepared!"

Rachel whirled back to him abruptly, her face shining with excitement. "A last minute goodbye performance? Hmmm . . . I'll have to check my repertoire, but perhaps something from Wicked? Or maybe . . . Don't Cry for Me Argentina? Or we could go with-"

"No, no that's not what I meant," Kurt interrupted hastily. "I meant I want to have time to think about what I want to say. I want them to understand that . . . that I would give anything to stay, but I really can't. I can't take it anymore. And it absolutely kills me that I'm abandoning my friends because I can't handle some simple d-bullies and I feel so pathetic and worthless and I just," Kurt started to sob quietly, "I can't face them, Rachel."

"That's not true, Kurt," Rachel said softly, rubbing Kurt's arm soothingly, "They're the pathetic ones, not you. You are brave and strong and one of the most talented people I've ever met. Don't shake your head – stop it – it's true. I know it. You know it. The entire glee club knows it. The only thing they'll think when you announce your departure is that we won't have a chance at sectionals without you."

Kurt exhaled a small chuckle and wiped his eyes. "You go ahead. I'm going to return these books and . . . If I'm not in the choir room in twenty minutes don't expect me."

_They look so happy_, Kurt thought as he stood outside the choir room fifteen minutes later. He looked through the windows outside Mr. Schue's office, longing to join the boys in their pointless frolic; someone had found the wigs from last year and the boys were strutting about the room, lip synching a Spice Girls song while the girls watched and laughed from the seats. Kurt doubted that had anything to do with the mash-up competition, but he wasn't condemning it either. He heard the beat end, but he couldn't tell what anyone was saying; the distance and glass blocked out the words. He could only see.

The boys were laughing jovially and slapping one another on the back while the girls applauded and giggled. Finn wandered over to the cardboard box as if to put his wig away, but picked something out of it instead. Kurt inhaled sharply as Finn drew his blonde wig from the depths of the box. Finn gazed at it with his trade mark confused ogre face as he said something to the rest of the club over his shoulder. Rachel responded quickly with an attempt at nonchalance, but she glanced toward the door anxiously, then looked at her watched. Puck stepped up and snatched the wig out of Finn's hands, placing it haphazardly on his head and doing what Kurt could only assume was an impression of himself.

Kurt felt white hot anger surge through his veins as he watched Puck swagger around the room, thrusting out his rear crudely and sticking his nose in the air. He pranced up to Finn and flipped the hair flirtatiously. Finn swatted Puck away and glared at him, saying what looked like some kind of threat or warning. Puck merely shrugged and made his way over to Sam, batting his eyes exaggeratedly and rubbing his crotch obscenely. Sam glowered at Puck furiously and Kurt guessed he said something like "Why don't you grow up?" Puck buried his face in his hands and pretended to cry.

Rachel stomped up to Puck and pulled the wig off of his head roughly. He turned defensively, but stepped back as Rachel waved the wig in his face menacingly. Puck looked at the floor ashamedly for a moment before he recovered and said what appeared to be an lewd remark. Kurt couldn't tell precisely what Puck had said, but he distinctly saw Puck's mouth form the words "girl" and "ass" and "gay."

Kurt had enough. He turned on his heal and walked swiftly down the hall, not even bothering to glance back. He didn't wait to see of someone defended him. He just needed to get out.

_How could he? _Kurt was crying again. He did that a lot as of late. _How_ could _he? He doesn't know . . . he doesn't get it. He knows nothing about what I've been through. Nothing. He can't-_

Kurt's bag caught on the stair railing and split, spilling its contents all over the floor. _Fantastic._ He threw down his bag in frustration and began to gather his things. He paused when he saw the pictures of glee club he had been admiring earlier. With a sob, he crushed the photos in his hand and threw them across the hall. He turned back to the mess, only to turn away from it again and cover his face with his arms, huddling up on the bottom step and sobbing quietly.

The shadows skipped the whispering and launched right into their shouting.

**You cannot let them get away with that. Let me in, I will make them pay.**

** I shall be the best friend you have ever had, and I will never leave you.**

** You do not need friends that will only hurt you. Together we can go somewhere better, and find someone better.**

Kurt shook his head violently and buried his head deeper in his arms. He was so _tired_ of fighting. He was tired of being kicked when he was down. He was just tired. And was no longer sure he had the strength to keep going.

He sat there for a few minutes, feeling every abusive term race through his mind, along with broken images of his confrontation with Karofsky and flashes of pitch black eyes. A gentle nudge on his shoulder brought Kurt back to the present; someone was poking him with . . . _was that paper?_ Kurt peaked out from behind his arms enough to see someone offering him the crumpled pictures.

"I don't want them, Rachel," Kurt said weakly. "Just throw them away." The person persisted, poking him in the shoulder again with the pictures. "I said I don't want them." Another poke. "Rachel, leave them where-" Kurt's command died in his throat as he lifted his head from the sanctuary of his arms. It wasn't Rachel who was returning the papers, it was Karofsky.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: After careful consideration, I have decided to move some stuff in this chapter around and replace it. I like this version much better & I hope you do as well. I'm very sorry about my poor editing.

* * *

><p>Kurt scrambled away from him frantically, feeling the stairs bruise his back as he pushed into them. "Wh-what do you want?" Kurt asked tremulously, "I haven't said anything. And I won't. You don't need to-to do anything."<p>

Karofsky merely looked at him, his expression unfathomable. "I know you told someone."

Kurt felt his stomach drop and land somewhere in fire. He mouthed wordlessly, unable to force his tongue to form syllables. He was frozen yet again, looking into Karofsky's (thankfully brown) eyes and silently pleading. Not for his own life – that wasn't worth much – but for Blaine's and his father's. _Please, don't hurt them,_ he wanted to say, _my father doesn't even know anything, and Blaine . . . he can't die because of me. Please._

"They told me. Or they told him and he told me," Karofsky paused, allowing a flicker of sadness to break his flat stare. "He wants me to kill you. Both of you. Or all three of you. They're not sure."

Kurt shook his head. "Please," he whispered brokenly, finding his voice at last, "don't. They don't know anything. Don't hurt them."

Frustration broke Karofsky's emotionless mask. "I'm not going to . . . _He's_ the monster, not . . . Just-just take the freakin' pictures and I'll go. And you'd better hope you never see me again." He thrust out his hand and Kurt gingerly grasped the wrinkled paper.

Instead of letting go of the pictures, Karofsky leaned forward and muttered "Watch out for your new butt-buddy."

"He's not my-" Kurt's heart skipped a few beats and he drew back swiftly as he registered exactly what Karofsky was saying. "He has nothing to do with this. He's just-"

Again, frustration flashed across Karofsky's features. "That's not what I–just be careful around that fairy. He-"

"Hey!" a man shouted from somewhere behind Karofsky. "What the hell-? Get away from him!"

Karofsky was gone as quick as he came, racing up the steps. Puck ran past Kurt and up the stairs, shouting threats and profanities at Karofsky's receding form as he chased him.

Kurt simply stayed there, still frozen. _What did he mean "be careful around him"? Is there something after him? A Demon with a grudge and no limits? Why would Karofsky warn me about that? Why did he-_

"Kurt?" Mercedes broke his concentration with her questioning shout. She strode up to him, trailed by the rest of glee club. "Kurt, what happened? We heard yelling." she said concernedly.

"I-I fell," Kurt lied, "it's nothing." He knew they wouldn't believe that, with him trembling so terribly it looked like he was having some kind of epileptic seizure.

"Did you break something?" Finn asked seriously.

"He didn't break anything," Rachel interjected quietly, "he's lying. He didn't fall. Someone pushed him."

"No," Kurt said stubbornly, "I was just walking to the French classroom and I tripped on the stairs. I think I twisted my ankle."

"French class is on the ground floor," Mike reminded him suspiciously.

"And it's that way," Artie added, pointing over his shoulder.

"I didn't trip up the stairs," Kurt told them exasperatedly.

They considered that collectively. When it appeared they could find no holes in that aspect of his story, Brittany spoke up.

"Were you going to steal the French teacher's leprechaun?"

Kurt stared at her quizzically for a second before answering. "No, I was going to pick up some things I missed. What is the French teacher's-?"

"Don't ask," Quinn advised.

"Well, why would you go there when she's not there if you didn't want her leprechaun?"

"Yeah," Santana agreed loudly, "unless you're going all bad-boy on us, which I doubt because you have the morals of an eight year old girl, you're lying through your teeth. Now just tell me what S.O.B. made you blubber like a baby so I can endz him."

"I didn't know she wasn't there," Kurt retorted defensively, feeling both insulted and flattered by Santana's comment. "She must have forgotten that I was coming."

After mulling it over for a few moments, the entire group seemed to accept his lie as truth, except Rachel, who was looking at him with a mixture of accusation and sadness. He stared back at her, silently begging her to keep silent. After a few moments she looked down with a tiny nod.

"Well, if that's all then we'd better get you to a doctor," Tina said motioning to Mercedes to help her lift Kurt from the ground.

They were just reaching for his arms when the sound of someone stamping down the staircase caused them to freeze in surprise.

"He got away," Puck panted furiously as he came down the steps to stand in front of Kurt. "Sorry, Kurt. That fat bastard can run."

"Who?" the glee club chorused as Mercedes knelt to put her arm around Kurt's shoulders.

Puck looked at Kurt, dumbfounded. "You didn't tell them?" Kurt shook his head stiffly and glared at Puck mutinously. "It was Karofsky. I came out here and he was all up on Kurt, so I chased him. I woulda beat the crap out of him if he didn't have a head start." He crouched down so that his face was level with Kurt's. "Did he hurt you?"

Kurt felt confusion battling his anger. After a few seconds of intense warfare, anger won. "Why do you care? Are you jealous that he beat you to the punch?"

Puck pulled back in shock. "What's that . . ." he trailed of, understanding dawning on his face. Regret flooded his features a second later. "Look, Kurt-"

"I saw enough," Kurt interrupted coldly. He got up and dusted off his pants, making no attempt to retrieve his belongings. He felt his chest tighten as he walked away, hoping no one would-

"Kurt," Puck called, catching up to Kurt as he rounded a corner and grabbing him by the elbow. "I-I didn't mean it, alright? I-"

"No it's not alright," Kurt spat, yanking his arm away from Puckerman, "do you have any idea what it's like to be bullied every day by people who don't even know you? You-"

"Yes," Puck said quietly as he studied a crack in the linoleum.

Kurt's accusation cut off at the small word. "Since when? No one here would dare touch you." He narrowed his eyes at Puckerman, believing this to be some kind of trick.

Puck didn't respond. He opened his mouth several times before "It happened in juvie. I-I wasn't really king bad ass like I said. There were some dudes in there . . . I mean, I thought I was nasty, but these guys . . . they were bad. Like, demon bad. I swear some of them had black eyes sometimes," Puck shuddered at the possibility. "And they were . . . what's that word for sickos who like pain? Sat-satists?"

"Sadists," Kurt corrected softly.

"Yeah, they were sadists," Puck paused and scuffed the floor with his boot, "There was this kid there and he . . . he had an asthma attack during recreation and he couldn't find his inhaler. They just laughed. This kid was dying and they-they thought it was funny. Turns out they took his inhaler. While he was choking they took it out and dangled it in his face. I tried to help him, but they kept pushing me, calling me wimp, fairy, girl, just . . . everything. A guard stepped in eventually, but that kid . . . he was barely alive. And they were still laughing." Puck looked at him as though he couldn't believe his own memories. It was almost as though he was begging Kurt to tell him it wasn't real; that it was some kind of horrible nightmare.

Kurt eyed Puck thoughtfully for a minute. _Maybe I was wrong about him, _Kurt felt a rush of anger at the memory of Puck prancing around in the wig, _but that doesn't excuse what he did._ Again, Kurt felt his conflicting emotions battling in his mind.

He recalled the hurt and humiliation at Puck's thoughtless torment; the repeated wounds that buried themselves so deep that their cracks almost broke him. But was it really Puck that had been breaking him at the time? Or was it something else?

_What does it matter now?_ Kurt asked himself, _What difference does it make? This apology means nothing because it doesn't change anything. I . . . never really cared much for Puckerman anyhow. It's not like we were close. What's he ever done for me other than nice little dumpster tosses and slushie facials? _Kurt's train of thought faded as he remembered when Finn had told him that Puck had prayed for Burt to heal after hearing about his heart attack.

_"I just think you should pitch in so that we can send him something," Finn said as he waved a collection box under his nose. "I mean, juvie can't be a fun place. I just think he might want, like, a gift basket or something. Make him feel better."_

_ Kurt raised an eyebrow. "The purpose of juvenile hall is to make you feel bad about yourself. Puckerman brought it on himself. We don't owe him anything. Especially not you, or do you not recall what he did to you last year?"_

_ Finn's expression flickered from confused, then angry, then confused again before settling on resolute. "Well, that's old news. Besides, he's always telling Karofsky and the jocks to leave you alone, plus he prayed for Burt-"_

_ "And that somehow entails that I am obligated to spend my hard earned money on sending comfort food to a delinquent?" Kurt interrupted frostily._

_ "No, but it _entrails_ that you should show him the same support that he showed you." Finn retorted hotly. He seemed unable to comprehend Kurt's unwillingness to forgive Puckerman and support him through this difficult time. "Maybe he did bring it on himself, but he's still a good person . . . y'know there are people who would say that you bring heart attacks on yourself."_

_ "If you are implying that the two situations are even remotely related-" Kurt began furiously._

_ "No," Finn said calmly, "I'm saying that no one owes anyone anything. It's just about having some compression."_

_ "Compassion," Kurt corrected angrily, "and that has nothing to do with this. It's about learning the difference between right and wrong. Or, I suppose, in Puckerman's case it would be idiocy and actual thought."_

_ Finn looked at Kurt piteously, as though he was the moron. "Whatever, dude."Finn said dejectedly as he turned and left Kurt to fume._

At the time, Kurt simply wrote off Finn's advice as pure stupidity, because surely it was a form of the highest idiocy to forgive someone so careless with their actions. But now, Kurt considered the possibility that Finn was right. _Maybe this isn't about debts and brain power; maybe it really is about compassion. Maybe Puckerman really did deserve more commendation than I gave him._

Kurt returned his attention back to Puck as he struggled to say something more. "It pro'bly won't make it better, but I'm sorry. I think, maybe . . . I was trying to feel like a bad ass again, y'know, after they freakin' neutered me in that hell hole . . . but now I'm just like them."

Kurt shook his head. "You're a lot of things, Puck, but you're not a sadist. You're just . . . angry." _Why do I bother defending him? _Kurt questioned himself although he already knew the answer: something about the look on Puck's face, cocky smile replaced with self-disgust, appealed to Kurt's sympathy. Puck had done many stupid things in his life, but he was more than a common bully.

Puck snorted. "Yeah, right."

"The fact that you tried to help that boy proves it . . . I'm not saying what you did was okay, because it wasn't, but . . . you're apologizing and that's something. And you went after Karofsky for me. You just . . . you _have_ to understand that people can be hurt emotionally, not just physically."

Kurt saw something fall to the floor from the general area of Puck's face. _Was that–? Is he–?_ Puck's hand flew to his face and he wiped frantically at the trail of the tear. Kurt's jaw dropped for a split second before he regained composure. He had never seen Puckerman cry before, and, as much as it frightened him, he felt it was reassuring to know that his ruefulness was so compelling.

"I–uh–I'll remember that, Kurt, and I really hope you know that I never meant to hurt you . . . either way." Puck looked up at him, his face torn between hopeful and sheepish.

Kurt closed his eyes thought for a moment, considering the apology carefully and wondering if he would regret accepting it.

_ Give them a chance. They might surprise you._

"I forgive you."

"Thank you." Puck stepped forward and threw his arms around Kurt's shoulders. Kurt stood stock-still, again waiting for the impulse to force away the intruder-of-personal-space to fade. After he was certain he wasn't going to use his arms to swing at Puck's stomach, he wrapped them around his back tentatively, being careful not to place them too low.

Puck pulled back after a brief moment, patting Kurt on the back roughly and looking at him with big puppy dog eyes that contrasted sharply with his bad-boy physique. Kurt couldn't help but smile in amusement at the sight.

It seemed Puck had exhausted his quota of emotion for the day, as he patted Kurt on the shoulder roughly and said "we'd better get back to the rest of the club. I told them to hang back but they'll prob'ly want to know what went down. Don't want them to think you neutered me for real with those pointy shoes."


End file.
